Tales from Cyrodiil: Not Even A Prayer
by SickleYield
Summary: Fifth story in the TFC universe: A Dunmeri paladin explores faith, love, and the whacking of zombies. Rated T for violence and themes. Now complete.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Preface:_

_This is the fifth entry in the Tales from Cyrodiil series. It takes place in that miniverse, and involves very specific alterations regarding the canon. In brief, the Hero of Kvatch hasn't performed most quests other than the main one, and while most of the Cheydinhal DB Sanctuary and the original Listener is alive, Lucien LaChance is not. _

_Lorok nagged me for a while to write a story with an Elven protagonist and no Orcs or Vampires, so this story is sort of for him. I was also curious as to whether I could even _write _a paladin character. Heaven knows there are _way _too many DB fics out there now, so at the very least it should be a nice change. This story also will acknowledge some Morrowind lore. There isn't a paladin class in default Oblivion (many mods add it and many people play it as a custom class), but the word better describes the character I want to write than "crusader."_

_As for the way this story starts, well, the phrase _in medias res _was probably coined just for me._

Chapter 1

Her head hurt profoundly. She was fairly certain her eyes were closed, but the little flashes of light she kept seeing militated against that hypothesis. There were voices, too. One of them sounded like an Orc, and the other one sounded like it drank rocks for fun.

"This one thinks perhaps she may be dead," said the rock drinker.

"Naw. I can see her breathing," said the Orc.

"Ah, yes, the ebony cuirass with its articulated plates. Perhaps you have taken a fancy to Elves rather than Khajiiti, my large friend?"

"I told you," the Orc said, with mild good humor. "M'not a pervert. Besides, I never met a Dunmeri without a temper. They're almost as bad as you. Got any potions left?"

"This one will do it herself, yes. You are too slow, and our friend in the ebony armor looks like the sort whose reflexes are liable to be dangerous."

"Gnaaaah," she said, and opened her eyes to stare directly into a pair of yellow ones. It was dark in the cave, but they glowed. The Khajiit blinked down a short muzzle at her.

"Ah. It appears you are not dead after all. Here." The cold rim of a bottle suddenly lay against her lips. She swallowed, and felt the fizz of magicka as it went down. Her head cleared suddenly. She stiffened, but the Khajiit was already back out of reach. Varanu Ashazzarnitashpi – for that was her name – sat up, feeling about for her sword. There were lots of rocks. Many of them were different sizes, but she had a strong suspicion they were the same general shape as the new dents in her cuirass. The potion notwithstanding, she felt bruised all over. That, and the dragging sensation in her limbs, did nothing to improve her mood.

"That's gratitude for you," said the Orc.

"That's easy for you to say, Orc," Varanu said. She was normally a soprano. Her voice came out as a ragged not-quite-alto croak. "You're not the one who just spent however long it's been - "

"A few minutes," said the Khajiit.

" – Unconscious in a pile of rocks," she went on. Her gauntleted fingers closed over the hilt of the ebony scimitar at last. She tugged hard, freeing it from under a stone as big as her head. She could just glimpse the outline in the dim. It seemed heavier than usual.

"Um. Yeah," said the Orc. "Actually you were mostly unconscious _under _the pile of rocks. Just finished moving them off you. That's some pretty good armor you got there. Enchanted?"

"That's right," said Varanu. She raised one hand and muttered the appropriate word. A bright green glow sprung up around her. The Khajiit twitched, ears flat, as her pupils shrunk to slits. The light gleamed on her armor, which was black and spiky, and the Orc's, which might have been some kind of ebony if it hadn't been velvet green. She noted in passing that his face was covered in patchy burn scars, but that interested her less than the garish green warhammer strapped to his back. It glowed. _Hold on, _Varanu thought blearily. _Lots of scars… Over-shiny mismatched equipment you can't buy in ninety percent of the shops in Cyrodiil... And they're not smart enough to stay out of places like this._

"Gods preserve us," she spat. "I'm in the hands of _adventurers_." She staggered upright, kicking rocks away. They clattered down the steep hallway. Some things were blurred out of her memory, but she remembered killing everything she had found in the cave. _A few zombies and one or two ghosts, and I performed the Rites to keep them from coming back. Then I must have missed the trip line in the dark when that lich surprised me. _She looked around and spotted the crushed bones sticking out from under a boulder that blocked the corridor down to the lower branch of the caverns. _Ah hah._

"That's no way to talk," said the Orc.

"Why not?" said the Khajiit reasonably. "It is what we are. We did come here looking for treasure, no?"

Varanu laughed harshly. "Then you're out of luck, serjo," she said. "Even the pair of you won't get this armor off me."

"Out of luck? Us?" said the Orc.

The Khajiit rolled her eyes. "This one passes over for now the fact that you have called her a thief, yes. We were told this cavern held a treasure of some value guarded by the Undead."

"Not that _I _ever found," Varanu said. "Just broken coffins, and if I ever find out who did that I can assure y - " She stopped as she realized the hand with which she had been gesturing was giving off steam. She held the gauntlet up in the eerie light of her spell. It gave off another blue whisp. "Oh, Sotha's fingers." _That explains why I still feel so lousy._

"What?" said the Orc.

"Another reason for you to get out of here while you still can," growled Varanu. "I've got the bloody astral vapors. And I didn't get them off any of the bonewalkers _I _laid to rest, and liches don't carry it. There's a dread zombie somewhere in here."

"Oh, that," said the Khajiit. "This one advises you not to concern yourself with it further. It was trying to get at you through the rock pile when we happened upon you. Quite a noise, yes." She waved a gauntleted hand at the hallway. A pair of naked legs, pocked with rot, was just visible at the edge of the light spell's nimbus. They still gave off a faint blue smoke.

"Hmph. Well, don't say I didn't warn you if it turns out not to be the only one. Thanks for pulling the rocks off me," she added grudgingly. Varanu shook her dusty hair back from her face. How long had it been since she cropped it last? A month? It was an awful tangle now, soiled with blood and dirt. She reached up and extracted the flat glass vial on its chain around her neck, then unstoppered it one-handed. She'd gotten good at that, so she wouldn't have to sheathe the scimitar.

The two adventurers showed no inclination to leave as she knelt beside what was left of the lich and sprinkled it with the blessed unguent. She spoke the prayer to Arkay with her eyes open. She always had. It didn't matter whose votary you were, somebody was always sneaking up.

"Let the light be carried and the circle be closed," said Varanu at last. The bones crumbled to dust. She got up with difficulty and stumbled over to repeat the rite on the dread zombie.

"You don't look like a priest," said the Orc, when she was finished. Varanu forced herself upright the second time through sheer force of will.

"That's because I'm _not _a priest," she said. "Nor a healer. Nor a monk, nor anything else that requires you to try to do a shred of good without enough armor to stop yourself getting killed by the first idiot you run into who is stealthier than you."

"A paladin, in other words," said the Khajiit. "Yes?"

"That's right," said Varanu. "Who are you, anyway?"

"The Orc is Bhed gro-Gamghaz," said the Khajiit. "And this one is Thrissi the Luckless. If Arkay's knight has no objection, we will finish our exploration of the cavern."

"You won't find anything, but be my guest," said Varanu. She turned toward the cavern's entrance, still carrying the scimitar. "Stay out of trouble."

"Ha," said the Orc.

Varanu was halfway back to Anvil, staggering under the increasing weight of the vapors, before she recognized the names.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: In Oblivion, Chapels are indistinguishable from one another, and only Arkay has distinct rites mentioned (but not how they are performed). I personally feel this means I can make up my own concepts of how individual aedra are worshipped in practice. I won't be sticking to the exact NPCs found in Chapels in the game, either._

Chapter 2

Varanu leaned gratefully against the great post of the Anvil Castle Gate. The Imperial who was on early guard duty eyed her askance as she finally sheathed her scimitar. She was gasping like a fish from a walk that should hardly have raised a sweat, and she was still crusted with grime. Given that the Fighters' Guild had an outpost in the town, it wasn't so uncommon to see injured people in armor staggering in early in the morning. The sight of a scarred and steaming Dunmeri woman in heavy armor, however, was just a little out of the common.

"Do you need help?" said the guard.

"No," said Varanu.

"You sure? You don't look so - "

She waved down his extended hand. "Don't touch me. I've got astral vapors."

"It's not all _that _contagious," he said, but Varanu was already on her slow way up the street toward the Chapel of Dibella. The ebony wasn't getting any lighter, but it was the principle of the thing.

It was clouding up overhead, as if it planned to rain again soon. The windows of the great Chapel glowed faintly up ahead. The steeple rose out of sight into the thin mist that often prevailed in Anvil in the early morning. Varanu's surroundings seemed to be taking on a tendency to warp at the edges, as if she were viewing them through a glass lens. She nearly fell on her way up the steps, and she had to fumble for a moment to actually find the handle of the door, though it was not too dark to see.

It was fairly dim inside the Chapel, however, so it wasn't surprising that she tripped over something just inside the door. With the current state of her reflexes, there was no chance of catching herself. Her right shoulder hit the stone floor with a dull _clank, _jarring her to the bone.

"Tsk, how clumsy of me," said a voice that was probably, all things considered, male. Sometimes it was hard to tell with Altmer, and nowhere was this more noticeable than inside facilities dedicated to Dibella. Varanu sat up slowly, shook her head, and glared up into the face of...

No, he couldn't be an aedra. Varanu was positive that wasn't what Arkay looked like, and she hadn't done anything significant enough to merit a personal visit in any case. Still, in her present disoriented state, looking up at the golden vision in Elven armor as he stood backlit by the glow of the open door, Varanu experienced a second's pang of doubt.

Fortunately, a dozen or so years' service in one of the world's less rewarding occupations plus the fact of her ancestry came to her rescue.

"Stupid Altmeri son of a guar," she said, and seized hold of a nearby bench to drag herself upright. The Altmer offered a shining gloved hand, but retracted it at Varanu's raised eyebrow. "Don't touch me, idiot. I've got astral vapors." She turned and made her way to the altar, ignoring the startled expression on his lovely face. One or two shocked worshipers were staring from the benches, though she didn't know (or care) whether her language or the noise she'd made falling had provoked the reaction.

Varanu slowed as she reached the great round of stone that served as an altar. A beam from a stained glass skylight overhead lit the air above it with swirling dust motes. She rested both hands on the rim to keep from falling over.

She wasn't a mer of many words. In the event, all she said, was, "Please."

A draft of magicka, pure and cold as ice, shot up her spine. The heavy feeling in her limbs departed instantly, the weight of her armor suddenly less as her strength was restored. She shook herself. A small clod of dirt dislodged itself from her hair and hit the stone floor with a small _poof._ She could feel her own magicka again, waiting. Some mer felt it as a sizzle in their veins, like liquor. Some felt it as an aura, a mist in the air around them. Varanu felt it as fire waiting to happen. Heat aggregated at the ends of her fingers, urgent with the need to consume the dead.

She went to the little round altar of Arkay next, in its shadowed place beside the wall. A faint murmur of prayer and ordinary chatter arose behind her as she stepped behind a pillar. This time she laid one hand on the altar as she lifted the unguent vial on its chain over her head. She held it out over the small column of marble.

"I've done it for you," said Varanu. "Stay with me and I'll do it again."

There was a soft buzz, and the vial lit up from the inside for an instant. Fire flashed around Varanu's fingers, but they did not burn. Then it went out. Varanu put it back on and turned toward the sanctuary in time to nearly trip over the same Altmer again. This time she took a quick step back, avoiding the duck-footed boot with its mirror polish.

"You're a slow learner, is that it?" she said.

"You're a votary of Arkay," said the Altmer, smiling faintly. "I suppose that explains it."

"Not the half of it, mer," said Varanu. "Did you want something?" It almost hurt to look at him closely. His skin and eyes and his long, plaited hair were almost the same shade of pale gold, and _he _hadn't been down any caves lately, by the look of things. His features were stunning in the manner common to his race, pointed and angular and absolutely symmetrical. He was only a couple of inches taller than Varanu, who was not small for a Dunmeri. _At least I don't have to look up._

"You came by your recent indisposition in course of doing the Divines' work, is it so?" said the Altmer.

"I caught astral vapors off a zombie while I was putting down a cave full of Undeads," said Varanu warily. "If that's what you mean." _And who are you and why are you still talking to me?_ She'd had some… interesting… conversations inside Chapels of Dibella before, but not generally while she was still filthy and reeking of dirt and rot.

"And you came to a Chapel of Dibella because… ?" he prodded gently.

"It was the closest altar," said Varanu. "I'm not here for your goddess, and I don't care remotely about how I look at this instant in time. For that matter, I don't see why it's any of your business."

"No, it really isn't, is it?" he said. "I do beg your pardon. I was mistaken." He didn't seem particularly sorry. But then, it wasn't an emotion Altmer were very good at expressing. "I don't suppose I might assist you with your hair while you are here?"

"You _what?"_

"Only it does appear to need some attention," said the Altmer. "I happen to carry scissors with me, and we have fonts in the Undercroft for washing."

Varanu squelched her temper with an effort. _If you didn't want to hear about it, you should've found a different chapel. _"Thanks," she said. "But I don't let anybody that close to my neck with sharp things. Nothing personal. And I've got a lot of _other _cleaning up to do - "

"I could help with that also," said the Altmer. "I'm quite a good armorer. It would be no trouble at all."

"No," Varanu said. "Thanks, but no. Blessings of Arkay, serjo."

"Blessings of Dibella," returned the other mer. He moved aside as she went up the aisle. Varanu glanced suspiciously back at him as she went out the door. He watched her go with an expression of superior blankness, the most typically Altmeri expression a living being could possibly have.

Ten minutes later she was inside the Fighters' Guild, stripped down to her underclothes and giving herself a spit bath from a basin of relatively warm water. Sven the Ugly sat on the edge of a bed further down the long, narrow room, hammering at a warped cuirass. Heavy muscle bunched and stretched in the Nord's big arms as he worked. He tended to go a little crosseyed, and he had a weak chin and a big, hooked nose. He was also, for what it was worth, probably Varanu's favorite person in the Guild.

"New scars," Sven grunted as he glanced up at her bare back. "What've you got into this time, then?"

"Same as always," Varanu said. She leaned over the basin, scrubbing at her scalp with the fragrant sand she always carried. "Saw the Hero of Kvatch down a hole in the ground, believe it or not. I caught astral vapors this time. Had to go to the Chapel before I came here."

Sven snorted. "You, in Dibella's Chapel? Wish I'd seen it."

"I wish you had, too," Varanu said. "For a second I thought this Altmer was going to proposition me. Weird. So what'd _you _run into, this time out?"

"Eh, guild business," said Sven. He hit the iron cuirass another resounding whack, forcing a dent out. "Minotaurs harassing some farmer. One of 'em just about took my head off. Probably improve my looks, but I figured to keep it this time."

"Mm hm," said Varanu. "And when's the last time you slept alone, again?"

Sven grinned. His teeth were crooked and yellow, but they were all there. "Why, Var. I didn't know you cared."

"Not much," Varanu said. She rinsed her hair as best she could, then fumbled around for her ebony belt knife. "Just wondering how much mileage you're getting out of that oh-poor-me routine."

"Plenty," Sven said. "Besides, I'm a nice fellow. Women like me. You ought to take a lesson."

"I don't want women to like me," Varanu said.

"You know what I meant." Sven put the breastplate back on over his head. He'd done it so many times that he didn't have to look at the straps as he buckled them.

Varanu hacked at the trailing strands of her black hair, cutting off the worst tangles. This made it considerably shorter. It was easier than this might sound. She kept the knife very sharp, and she'd used it to cut her hair many times before.

"I'm not interested," Varanu said. "Even if looks meant the same to men as women – which they don't, by nor large - I'm too busy for hobbies, which is what it is to you."

"Fair," Sven allowed. "Guild work's not for a family man."

"There are those who'd disagree."

"Un huh," said Sven mildly. He buckled his sword belt back on. "And they're wrong. Where you going to next?"

"I'm not sure," Varanu said. "I'll ask Azzan, but he doesn't usually have much in my line. Maybe I'll head north again. One of the priests up at Bruma is a fair diviner."

"I thought you didn't hold with that," Sven said.

"He's a natural," Varanu said. "No blood, no sacrificial victim, no praying to daedra. The god talks to him."

"He doesn't talk to you?" said Sven.

"He gave me a job to do, and he keeps me going so I can do it," Varanu said. "That's enough. Light follow you, big man."

"Luck follow _you_, little mer," said Sven the Ugly, and went out.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Azzan was, not surprisingly, unhelpful. He offered her a caravan escort duty, which Varanu firmly declined. "Send somebody else. Caravans never get attacked by undeads in Cyrodiil."

"It might do you good to see some variety, Ashazzarnitashpi," Azzan said. Most humans couldn't remember her full last name, let alone pronounce it. The Redguard hadn't gotten to be a guild head by accident. "You're too used to cold magic."

"I've put down summoners plenty of times," Varanu said. "And it's not all ghosts and zombies with them. I don't know which hurts worse, daedra venin or knockjoint."

"It's one for the books, all right," Azzan agreed. He ran a gauntleted hand over his head of short, frizzy hair. "Suit yourself. I'll send someone who wants to make some money. Maybe Bhed and Thrissi will be back some time today."

"How did the Hero of Kvatch end up working caves out of Anvil?" Varanu said.

"I have no idea," Azzan said. "And I don't want one. Good luck, Defender."

"Second time today someone's said that," Varanu muttered on her way out the door. _I wonder if I'm jinxed and don't know it. _She brooded on this as she walked up the paving toward the East Gate. There was a great island of grass enclosed by stone in the middle of the pavement, and one or two people sat on benches around it. A Redguard woman smiled up at Varanu, enjoying the sun. Varanu smiled reluctantly back.

Then a wail of despair jerked her head around toward the sidewalk. An Altmer in increasingly familiar gold armor stood there with his gauntleted hands over his face. His muffled groan of anguish might have contained words, but they were indistinguishable.

"What's wrong with _you?" _Varanu said. The Altmer lowered his hands and stared at her, gently slanted eyes wide.

"What have you done? What have you _done? _Why, _why _didn't you let me cut it?"

"Cut wha – oh, no. You had better not be talking about my hair."

He moved faster than she had thought possible. In an instant he was on one knee at her feet, hands clasped in front of his divine face. "Please, for pity's sake. Let me fix it. I'm begging you! You can have my weapons, I'll take off my armor, I'll do it strand by strand with ice spells if you want, but if you've one tiny shred of mercy in you, don't make a servant of the Lady watch that abomination go out into the world."

_He has_ _weapons? I didn't see any. _Varanu debated whether to laugh or just hit him, but one of those curiously watching was a city guard. "Get up, you fool," she hissed. "Folk are staring."

"Not until you promise," the Altmer said immediately. "I will kiss your feet if I have to. Don't think I won't."

"Almsivi, no." She used the profanity before she remembered why she'd _stopped _using it, but that wasn't important at the moment. He seemed relatively harmless, if probably crazy, and if it was the only way to get him off the street and away from the increasing number of staring pedestrians… "All right, fine," Varanu said.

"Promise," said the Altmer stubbornly.

"My word as Arkay's servant, you crazy fetcher. Get up before I knee you in the head."

He rose gracefully to his feet, instantly composed. "You won't be sorry, madam."

"I'm already sorry. Where were you planning to do this? Because if you think I'm going back into that Chapel again you've got another one coming, serjo."

"Then we could step into the inn," he waved a languid hand down the street. "They will allow me the use of a table and chair. They have before."

"For cutting people's hair?"

"You serve your aedra, I serve mine. Beauty must be spread wherever one may."

Varanu looked at him with raised eyebrows. He seemed entirely serious, his symmetric features aligned in an expression of grim fortitude which, she did not fail to notice, also refrained from causing any wrinkles in his smooth skin.

"I've never seen anybody take Dibella that seriously," she said.

"A shame," said the Altmer firmly.

"I'm not sure I want my hair cut by a madmer."

"You gave your word," said the Altmer. "And you won't break it."

"You can't know that."

"Oh, but I can," said the Altmer.

Varanu snorted. "What's your name, Dibella's knight?"

"I am Esgeriad. And how are you called, dark lady?"

"Lady's not the right word, but my name is Varanu Ashazzarnitashpi."

"Your people are Ashlanders, then?"

"Maybe you're not as stupid as I thought you were," Varanu said. "They were, once upon a time." She marched in the front door of the inn, shoving it open so that the other mer could enter behind her. He glided over to the bar to speak to the innkeeper. A few moments later, Varanu sat in a wooden chair as Esgeriad snipped off the ends of her hair. She sat rigid, trying not to think about the sharp little scissors and the tips of her pointed ears. She'd lost the end of one ear already, to something quite different, and she hated anything near it.

A single napkin sat on the table beside her. Every time the scissors went _snip, _a small tuft of black hair floated neatly over and came to rest in the exact center of the square of linen. Not a single hair fell to the floor. It was a frivolous use for telekinesis, but Varanu wasn't fooled. Most users of that particular spell were lucky to throw a body and hit the right wall. _And he can hold individual hairs. _She glanced suspiciously down at the dagger he'd handed her. _That explains why he's got no sword. _

Still, he didn't make her fingertips itch to flame, the way they usually did around evil. That was worth something.

"There. That's _ever _so much better," said the Altmer. "A trifle austere for my own taste, perhaps, but ideal for the paladin of Arkay – don't you agree?"

"I wouldn't know," Varanu said.

"Oh, yes, how silly of me." Esgeriad stepped around the chair, scissors still in hand, and stood directly in front of her. "Have a look at the breastplate."

Varanu stared at her own reflection in gold. It was a little distorted by curvature, but she could see that the ragged ends of her hair had been clipped down to a neat crop all over. He'd even left a couple of little tufts where they would best frame her face without getting in her way. "That's very good," she admitted.

"I'm very pleased you think so." He wiped the scissors carefully on the edge of the napkin and tucked them away in a compartment of his belt. "Do feel free to look me up whenever you're in town. I am sometimes absent on the Lady's business, but at any time we are both here I will be very pleased to do the same again. Never let it be said I let someone go about with knife-cut hair when I could prevent it."

Varanu stood up. "I'd say thank you, but you blackmailed me into this to start with. What sort of business do you go on for Dibella? Seeking out lonely maidens?" She offered him his dagger hilt-first. He restored it smoothly to his belt.

"To do Dibella's work is to do good to the deserving, not harm to the unwary," Esgeriad said. "Seducing maidens is generally the latter rather than the former. Admittedly I lack direct experience on the point, as I myself do not trifle with the fairer sex."

"That explains a lot," said Varanu.

Esgeriad smiled. His teeth were dazzling against his golden skin. "Less than you suppose, servant of Arkay."


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Sometimes I've wondered if including specific anatomical detail in action scenes really should allow me to keep a T rating, but given that lots of teens play Oblivion despite an M rating, it doesn't seem that inappropriate._

Chapter 4

Varanu left Anvil newly burdened with potions, mandrake, and a slightly more thoughtful frame of mind than usual. She didn't let herself think about things too often. It never got anywhere, and it tended to slow her down. But Dibella's knight had surprised her. _It's mostly humans who choose the way of devotion, and it's almost always Talos. _One did occasionally meet a mage who professed more than mere notice of Julianos, or a merchant who would actually mention Zenithar in conversation, but that was even less common. Cyrodilic peoples were not, by and large, very devout. Certainly not the Altmeri.

There was a growing cult of Akatosh, but that was a thing of the moment. _Martin's memory and his following will fade as the Empire sinks lower. Not Ocato nor anyone can prevent that, _Varanu thought, with a level of grim satisfaction that was very typical of her usual thinking. _No heir of the blood lives. The Dragonfires are out._

There had been plenty to keep her busy, since the closing of the Gates. Most of the daedra left behind when the final sacrifice was made were gone now, but she did encounter the cannier ones wandering here and there, killing wantonly or carefully, but generally easy to locate by the trail of destruction they left.

Varanu had walked the long road between Anvil and Bruma many times. It took a serious effort to keep herself alert on the way, and darker thoughts were inclined to distract her. Even so, she heard the footsteps well before she saw anyone. She stepped off the path and stood still, listening. The tread was light, like an unshod person, but whomever it was seemed to make no attempt at stealth. They seemed to be moving parallel to the road, coming toward her from the direction of Bruma.

"I can hear you," Varanu said aloud. "Show yourself." She stood poised to duck or draw, in case what came out of the brush was an arrow or a spell – or some wandering creature of the type that had most recently occupied her musings.

"And why should I show myself to this armed and armored one?" said a deep and heavily accented voice.

_An Argonian, _recognized Varanu. She'd met Argonian bandits along here before. None had sounded quite as…_ angry _as this one. "If you mean no evil, I'll do you no harm," said Varanu.

"It walks in the heavy boots, yes. It may show itself first."

"Fair enough," said Varanu. She drew the ebony blade and held it up so that the blade was at eye level. Then she stepped back out onto the daylit road. For a moment nothing happened. Then a long, pointed head emerged carefully from behind the trunk of an oak tree across the narrow road. The Argonian's scales were tan and dull, unlike most local members of that race, so it wasn't quite a surprise to see him come stalking around the tree on bowed legs and long, bare-clawed feet. His upper body was canted forward at an angle, to balance a tail too heavy to belong to a Cyrodilic Argonian. His fingers were clawed as well, but he wore only plain linens.

"It thinks much of its skill with this blade," said the Argonian. He laid a heavy emphasis on the _S_. "Were I armed with arrows, it would be a dead mer."

"This thing's been with me a long time," said Varanu. She lowered the scimitar slowly. "Since back when I wasn't as far from home as you are now."

"Vvardenfell we leave behind us, yes, and the Marsh we have never seen. Home is a mere half-mile or so _that _way." The Argonian gestured back the way he had come. "Or it was, until they took my wife and my son. I would be looking for them now, had I not been stopped by this prey too small for its armor."

"Who took them, serjo?" Varanu said.

"I do not know. They were stolen while they were tending the garden, and I was inside looking for the rake. I heard Red-Neera cry out once. No more. Footprints I found, of leather-shod feet, and the stench of magic and rot." He turned his long snout, fixing one yellow eye on her. It had a long, thin pupil, like a toad's eye. "But that is my misfortune, and none of yours."

_Magic and rot. Necromancers. _"I belong to Arkay," said Varanu. "Everyone's misfortune is mine. Maybe I can help you. I'm Varanu."

"My name is not so easy to say as my wife's," said the Argonian. "In this tongue I have been called Seeks-The-Water."

"Can you track?" Varanu said.

"Else we would have starved to death long ago, yes," said Seeks-The-Water dryly. "Follow me, and do not speak."

Varanu hefted her scimitar and followed the Argonian back into the brush. His feet seemed enormous, but he walked only on his toes, amplifying his already peculiar gait. It had been a long time since she last saw an Argonian from her native province. Cyrodiil's breed of that race could for the most part wear human clothing, and even shoes and gloves. Not so the beast-folk of Vvardenfell. _Maybe they've freed the slaves in Morrowind now, but they hadn't when _he _left there. I wonder if he ran away. It would explain why he was less than thrilled to see a Dunmeri._

The Argonian began to moderate his steps as he moved on, making less sound. Varanu did her best to do likewise. This is not normally difficult for a Dunmer, but heavy armor tends to militate against it. Every so often Seeks-The-Water would pause and lift his nose, tasting the air.

Varanu was not at all surprised when they came to the cave mouth with the crude wooden door in front. _Necromancers like caves. _It was deathly quiet even to a mer's ears, no birds singing. _No sentry zombies. They're not quiet. _

"_Let me go first," _she whispered. The Argonian cocked his head skeptically, but gestured her toward the door. Varanu raised one hand briefly to the place on her cuirass under which the unguent vial rested. Then she opened the door and slid inside. She crouched down beside the doorway until her eyes adjusted, straining to hear anything besides the Argonian creeping in behind her. The door opened into a downward-sloping passage, like many another cave Varanu had seen. She heard voices and footsteps not far off.

The presence of strange mana raised the hairs on the back of her neck., and she felt the fire revolving at the tips of her fingers under her gauntlets. _Definitely necromancers._

"Oooh, I'm going to _enjoy _killing that boy," said a thin, querulous voice.

"You enjoy killing everything," said another, this one deeper and more matter-of-fact.

"Yes, but he bit me. Almost took my finger off. It's a good thing I invested in that heal spell or it would be _gone._"

There was a gruff, garbled sound, an Argonian woman trying to talk through a gag. There was the sound of a blow, and an _oof_. "Shut up, you," said a third voice. "You won't have to wait long. I wish we could've gotten mer."

"Needs must, my friend, needs must. If the transfer of life is effective this time, we can easily repeat the Experiment with any race that becomes availab – did you hear that?"

There was a listening silence. Varanu swore silently at the inopportune scuff of her boot against an unforeseen rock. She normally didn't care much for stealth, but she still wasn't sure how many creatures she could expect to encounter down below. She heard a few whispered commands from the necromancers. Then she heard a low moan, and dragging footsteps from below her.

"So much for stealth," said the Argonian from behind her. Varanu snorted, stood up, and let the fire go. It streamed down her fingertips and wreathed the blade of the scimitar in crimson flame. The magicka hissed in her ears as it rose up from within, out of that bottomless pit of righteous rage that had been with her all her life. The world wasn't as it should be. The circle lay open, light subsiding before the darkness and the terrible, terrible urge to continue existing at any cost. _The light must be carried. The circle must be closed._

"Arkay defend me," said Varanu. She stepped forward and swung the scimitar just as the first zombie hobbled into view. The flaming blade cut through its torso with a vengeful hiss, and when the ebony had moved the fire stayed behind. The creature tried to keep going forward as the flames rose, and then it fell to ashes. Varanu stepped through the falling dust to the next creature. And the next. There was no smoke from the fire, but the stench of rotten flesh being immolated was truly awful.

"More of the creatures than this one expected, yes," said the Argonian behind her.

"They're summoned," Varanu said, raising her voice to be heard over the roar of the burning. "It's the same three."

"Can you not dispel them?"

"No," Varanu ground out, and hunched one shoulder to deflect a clumsy swing at her head. Dead flesh thudded against her pauldron. Then she cut the creature in half. _Aside from the Fire of Arkay, I know maybe five spells in Destruction and the same in Restoration. And that's after fifteen or so years of practice. _"Just stay back. They'll run out of mana sooner or later."

This proved to be correct after a very long five minutes. Varanu cut down the last of the three zombies just in time to see a shimmering sphere of green light shooting up the hall. She dodged clumsily to one side. The fizz as it hit the stone floor told her the Argonian had done the same.

Silence fell. Varanu pulled back her own magicka in order to listen, and the flame sucked back down the scimitar and into her gauntlets. It was hard to hear over her pounding heart, but she thought she made out feet scuffing below. Then the querulous voice from earlier spoke again.

"Whoever you are, you're outnumbered, or you'd be down here already," it said. "You can leave now, or we can kill you. It's your choice."

Varanu shook her head urgently at Seeks-The-Water, who seemed about to speak. _If they know we're after the other two, they'll kill them. _"You're out of time, deadraiser," Varanu said. "And there's no coming back from where I'm sending you."

She ran down the corridor, leapt through the doorway, and jinked immediately to one side just in time to avoid a falling mace on a chain. She stood in a long, low chamber lined with wooden tables. On the tables stood dishes full of nebulous piles and lumps. The contents were mostly unidentifiable, but the sickly sweet smell of decaying flesh was very hard to ignore. Alchemy equipment and cutting tools gleamed softly in the low light.

Two Argonians lay bound against the back wall, and between them and Varanu stood three mer in dark robes. One was Altmeri, and the other two seemed to be Bosmer.

"One lone mer? In _heavy _armor?" said one of the two Bosmer. "You must be joking." He drew a two-handed mace from off his back. A slick gleam of enchantment crawled over its surface.

"Watch yourself, you fool," said the Altmer, and Varanu recognized the whining voice she'd heard before.

"Why? She's only one mer," said the other one.

"Because I recognize that sword. You've never _been _to Mournhold, have you?"

"Why does _that _matter?"

Varanu smiled, or at least showed her teeth. She raised the scimitar to the guard position and let go the fire again. The cavern lit up with a rich, red glow. "You're never going to know," she said.

It was then that Seeks-the-Water melted out of thin air behind the three mer, straightened up, and stuck one sharp claw in either side of the Bosmer's neck. Blood spurted from both arteries at once. The mer had time for one cry of pain before the pressure in his brain fell and he collapsed.

The Altmer whirled, hands glowing with magicka, and Varanu was too far away to reach him with her scimitar. _But not with the fire. _She snapped the scimitar's blade out and forward, and a ball of red flame rolled off the end and sped through the air like the wrath of gods. It struck the mer in his right shoulder as he was turning, driving him back a step, and then the flame spread and he started to scream.

The surviving Bosmer dodged her second shot. He dove forward and rolled to his feet with a longsword in his hand, the faint yellow gleam of a summoned weapon only just fading.

"Most paladins would give us a chance to surrender," he said. Varanu stood and waited, watching the cavern from the corners of her eyes. It was unusual to find a cave like this without at least one or two permanent Undead somewhere in it.

"That'd be stupid," said Varanu. "You might accept. Then I'd have to try to save your wretched n'wah hide from Seeks-The-Water, and I'd rather not do harm to a good man on your account."

"Very well thought-out," said the Bosmer, and stabbed forward. Dodging a longsword at close quarters is no work for a mer in heavy armor. She batted the point aside with the scimitar instead. It hit her cuirass at an angle and glanced off. The Bosmer kept his balance and tried for a jab at the seam of her breastplate. Varanu twisted, then clamped down with her left elbow, pinning the sword flat against her armor. Her enemy let go at once, the sword dissolved into air, and then he blasted her from less than a yard away with a shock spell worthy of a lich.

Varanu's head rocked back as the charge of magicka hit. She hadn't expected him to be able to cast a large spell after a weapon summon. She'd been shocked before, and she always hated the nails-on-a-chalkboard feel of little lightnings ricocheting across her teeth. She fell to one knee, shaking, as the electricity did its work on muscle and nerves.

The Bosmer was probably very surprised when the scimitar whipped out and cut him off at the knees. Varanu didn't have a chance to ask him. The burning blade might have cauterized as it cut, but it also set him on fire. The necromancer was ashes in a matter of seconds, and then the flame went out with a _whoosh _and left her in the dark.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

"Hells," Varanu said, and staggered back to her feet. She'd kept her grip on the scimitar. The question was more whether her convulsively clutching fingers would ever be able to let go of it. Her linens were soaked with sweat under her armor, a very familiar discomfort but no less annoying for that.

She listened breathlessly as she waited for the blindness from the spell flash to clear. _Too used to cold magic, was it? A plague of clannfear on all know-it-all Redguards. _

The Argonians were speaking nearby, but she didn't know the language. That was all right. Judging by tone, it was probably another variation on "I thought I would never see you again! Don't you ever scare me like that again, husband/wife/child!" _It would be nice if I heard it more often. _

She didn't stop to enjoy the moment. There was still work to do. Varanu fumbled a potion vial out of her belt with shaking fingers, uncapped it, and drained the contents. Magicka hissed up through her sinuses and down her throat. She healed herself, then looked warily around the cavern as the spots cleared. It was still fairly dim, but she could see by the smoldering remains of the two necromancers she'd killed. Nothing moved except the three Argonians, now coming toward her in a tight group. The woman's scales were almost gray, and the boy's were brown and mottled. Identical yellow eyes watched her unreadably.

"We must go," said Seeks-The-Water. "There is still evil here."

"Then go," Varanu said. "I'll take care of the rest."

"We will not forget," said the boy. It was more thanks than she generally got. Then they were past her and running up the tunnel. A minute later, she heard the door open and close. Varanu listened to herself breathe harshly for another minute or so, waiting and watching.

After a while she heard a soft hiss in the distance. _Ah hah. _Ghosts were far preferable to either zombies or more necromancers. For one thing, ghosts could be reasoned with. Well. Sometimes. More than zombies, at least. And necromancers probably _could _be reasoned with, Varanu just didn't care to. The sane ones were the worst. If they were crazy, you could always suppose they didn't know what they were doing.

Besides, she'd grown up with ghosts. _So to speak_. Varanu looked around and located the low doorway at the far end of the chamber. She edged out of its direct line of sight, then moved closer.

"Spirit," she said.

The hissing stopped abruptly. A faint blue light suffused the doorway for an instant, and then the pale silhouette of the top half of a person floated into the room. Gender and age were hard to define, obscured by the glow and the haze, but the thing had certainly been man or mer. _Once. _It looked at her from hollow, deep sockets, and inside them the cold light burned.

It wasn't attacking her on sight. That was something.

"Can you talk?" Varanu said. The ghost shook its head. "Did these fetchers raise you?" She gestured with the sword at a dead necromancer. The ghost drifted closer, and Varanu saw its lips draw back from spectral teeth. It jerked its head down once. "I'll do what's right by you," Varanu said. "Is your body here?"

The ghost looked at the tables against the wall. Then it glided unerringly over to them and hovered over one particular dish of congealed blood. There were lumps in it. Varanu didn't look away as she took out her vial of unguent and began to perform the brief Rite. It didn't matter what they looked like after they were dead. A soul was a soul.

"...And the circle be closed," she said. "Go in peace, spirit."

The contents of the bowl shriveled away into nothing. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw other things on other tables disappear, parts of the same body. The ghost reached out with a bony hand as it began to fade. The fingertips brushed Varanu's cheek, cold as ice, and then it was gone.

She stumbled through the rest of the cave. Her left leg kept trying to buckle at odd times, and the effect didn't go away when she healed herself. She ran into one zombie, but she managed to cut it down without catching anything. _For once. _Then she went quickly back through the main room and performed the Rites on every body she found. This took a while. Apparently the necromancers hadn't been in the cave for long, but they'd been very busy. _This is a traveled road. The Legion would've noticed people disappearing sooner or later. Probably._

When she did the final Rites on the necromancers themselves – not that they deserved it, but if you were determined enough, you could make it back on your own - a small book fell out of the collapsing clothing of the Bosmer with the punctured throat. One corner was stained with blood, so the pages had to be separated carefully, but it was mostly legible. Varanu flipped through it quickly.

"I wonder why they always keep journals," she muttered. Like many members of his chosen profession, his writing tended toward spidery letters and superfluous punctuation. Some pages had more inkblots than words. Some had other kinds of splotches, too. Varanu wrinkled her nose. Not all of the stench was physical. It was possible to crave life, to desire the power over death, so strongly that it outstripped every corporeal lust and became something much, much worse. Varanu wasn't among the most arcanely gifted of Arkay's servants, but after ten years you got to notice things.

The phrase "The Experiment" seemed to recur often. That in itself wasn't surprising; lots of mages might refer to a current project that way, including the capital letters. Then another word caught Varanu's eye. She skimmed back quickly, searching.

_The raising of the dead, this we have accomplished. Our revenants are reeking shadows of mankind or merkind, poor imitations of life. They have their strengths, but their weaknesses are manifold – and they can give life to us only insofar as they protect us from those who would take it._

_Lichhood we have also explored as a possibility, but the idea of eternity in the body of a shriveled corpse holds little appeal if an alternative might be found. There are rumors regarding the porphyry and vampirism, but that, too, has many weaknesses to add..._

Varanu's eyes flickered down the explanation of things that had tried and failed, and came to this:

_Luraso's correspondent claimed a successful transference of human life to himself and a restoration of some years of his youth by the use of a new procedure and the traditional black soul gems. The trick, so he said, was to use the soul gem at the precise moment of transference at death..._

"And you tried it, didn't you? Bastards." She searched through the book, but found no name listed for whomever had written letters to Luraso. But find him she must, and soon. By the book's testimony, the dead Bosmer and his colleagues had been successful. The trouble was that it took one life to restore perhaps five years to a mer. _That's a lot of dead people, especially if it's an old mer. _None of the three had looked very old, but then, there had been a lot of corpses scattered around the cavern.

Varanu set her jaw. She wasn't much for being shocked, not any more, but she hadn't lost any ground as far as getting angry was concerned. Gained, if anything.

Whoever had written to this Bosmer might have written to others. Necromancers weren't usually generous with their secrets, but Archmage Traven's recent attitudes had forced many of them to collaborate as a matter of survival.

"I'll find him," she said to the empty cavern.

"I'm sure you will," said a voice. Varanu spun, almost overbalanced, and caught herself before the armor's weight dragged her down. Someone stood in the doorway that led down from the surface. Features were hard to make out for an exhausted mer in near-darkness, but the gold armor was backlit.

"_You," _Varanu said. "What are you doing here? How did you even gethere?"

The Altmer Esgeriad flicked an imaginary speck of dust from one pauldron. "I came seeking shelter for the night, as it happens." He wrinkled his long, elegant nose. "Judging by the smell, I should have stopped at that Argonian farm a few miles back. As for your second question, I rode a horse. Ever so much faster than walking."

"If you can afford it," Varanu said.

"Yes, it was rather an investment," he said, ignoring this blatant rudeness. He looked around thoughtfully, taking in the now-empty bowls and the tables and equipment. "Ah. I see you've been busy about Arkay's work."

"That's right," Varanu said. She sheathed her scimitar with an effort. Even now, her fingers had trouble releasing their grip on it. The Altmer moved politely aside to let her go up the hallway. She stopped by the opening, eyeing him. "I ran into one of the farmers. Said his family had been kidnapped."

"Did you find them?" Esgeriad said. He waited a beat longer, then turned and went up the hallway first.

"Yes, they're probably home long since by now. I'm not sure how long I've been down here. These nasty fetchers left a lot of things that needed undoing."

"Assuming you arrived on foot, it must still have been some time," Esgeriad said. "Given that I saw you in Anvil only this morning, and it is now sunset."

"Sunset," Varanu said. _Wonderful. I spent the whole afternoon down here._

"I suppose it's just as well I arrived late," Esgeriad said over his shoulder. "I really cannot abide corpses. Will you dine with me? After you've had a wash, that is?"

Varanu laughed briefly in spite of herself. "A wash, definitely. I've got no time for anything else. I've got to get down the road."

"In the dark?" Esgeriad said. He opened the door to the outside. The light of sunset wasn't so very bright, but it seemed so after the cave. Varanu squinted as she stepped outside, trying to watch him and her surroundings at the same time.

"I don't have time to waste," she said.

"Hm," said the other mer skeptically. Varanu hadn't actually told him a lie. She was in a hurry. But she gave herself possibly three or four miles before she keeled over. Her current plan was to find some cranny where she could put her back to stone as soon as she was shut of the Altmer. _I don't like that he showed up here. It could be a coincidence, but I like those odds even less. I'll bet any minute he's going to suggest -_

"This road is sometimes dangerous," said Esgeriad. "Perhaps you would care to travel accompanied?" Varanu watched him pat the large gray horse that stood beside the cavern outcrop. She'd expected it to be white, for some reason.

"No," she said. "I wouldn't. But I appreciate the offer." She'd passed a stream earlier, following Seeks-The-Water. Varanu stood for a moment, listening. Then she headed off toward the sound of running water.

She kept her ears peeled and her scimitar close to hand as she bathed, but Esgeriad evidently had been serious about what he'd said in Anvil. _And even if he wasn't, I'd be far down the list of mer you'd want to see naked. Especially somebody as fastidious as he is. Can't have nice skin with scars all over it._

_So, that being the case, what does he want from me? He's not blatantly evil. That doesn't mean he's not a thief or an Imperial agent or kind sort of con artist. He's a little too flamboyant to be for real. _Varanu splashed water on her hair as she knelt rather than ducking her head under the water. It would have been awkward anyway. It wasn't a deep stream.

It was dark by the time she'd cleaned herself and her gear. She'd dried the linens as best she could by repeated near-misses with a lower level fire spell. They were a little scorched at the hems from repeated use of this method, but they would serve. Esgeriad seemed to still be waiting. She could hear the horse nicker to itself every so often, and the warm glow of a small fire flickered through the threes. Varanu hesitated. The evening was growing cooler, and nights in early spring were chilly in western Cyrodiil. She'd slept with her back to cold stone so many nights lately…

Varanu shook her head, and turned and limped away toward the North and the road.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Varanu woke at the same time she generally did, or at least the same time she generally did if she remembered to sleep sitting propped and facing East. She muttered a curse at the rising sun, lifted the scimitar off her knees, and levered herself upright to the tune of popping joints. Some of these were the armor's. Most of them were hers. Something was pulled tight across the inside of her left knee, stretching up her thigh, and it twanged painfully as she moved.

She leaned against the rock she'd been sleeping against as she looked around and listened. She was only a few dozen yards off the road, about a mile from the necromancers' cave. The great stone was in a little hollow that should be well concealed from prying eyes.

This being the case, it was a little surprising that she could hear someone pacing back and forth on the roadbed as she came closer. _Pacing in heavy boots._

"Saint's carcass," she swore as she stepped out of the brush. The big gray gelding stood placidly in the middle of the narrow track, cropping a bit of herb that had chosen exactly the wrong place to root. In front of it stood Esgeriad, drawn up into a posture of indignation worthy of a young god. The morning sun gleamed heartbreakingly on his golden hair as it hung about his shoulders.

His lips trembled as he spoke. "That was very rude, Varanu."

"How did you even findme?" Varanu said. "Don't be telling me you can track through the bush in that getup, because I won't believe you."

"Nor would I try," sniffed Esgeriad. "I can, however, cast detect life spells with quite a large radius."

"Why?" Varanu said. She started up the road. Esgeriad patted the horse on one shoulder and gave its bridle a gentle tug. It followed him as he strode along beside her, still radiating righteous indignation.

"Because you owe me an apology," he said. "Your behavior was unworthy of a servant of the Divines. If you were not desirous of my company, you should have said so."

"I _did _say so," Varanu said. Her leg twanged and she swore again. "I snuck off because I didn't think you'd take a hint. You're not going far toward convincing me I was wrong, serjo."

"You may use my name, thank you."

"I can't believe I'm hearing this," Varanu said. "Why are you following me? What do you _want_?"

"I want," Esgeriad announced, in the tone of one declaring a mighty quest, "to be your friend."

Varanu stared sideways at him. He stared back with an expression of fixed purpose which might, on a homelier face, have been mulish. "You can't be an idiot," she said. "You use too many big words."

"It is the will of the Lady," said Esgeriad. "I am sure of it."

"You won't succeed," Varanu said. "Even if I don't kill you, which is starting to sound more and more like a good idea."

"You're a paladin of Arkay," Esgeriad said.

"So I'll be sure and bury you afterwards," Varanu growled. "I don't want to be your friend. I don't like Altmeri, to start with."

"That's perfectly all right," Esgeriad assured her. "You'll change your mind."

"And I'm not susceptible to charm spells, either," she said. "So put that out of your head, too."

"Perish the thought." Esgeriad raised his eyebrows. "The winning over of others through dishonest means is awful in Dibella's sight. And you still owe me an apology."

"I'm not going to apologize to you," Varanu said. "I don't like you. You're a prancing dandy in a suit of armor you've probably never had a use for in your entire life, you worship a goddess who cares about _hair, _and you won't leave me alone. For that matter, I'm fairly sure you don't like me, either."

"Of course I do," said the Altmer, blinking. "Liking people is what I _do_."

"Ah hah," Varanu said. "The light dawns. You really don't like me in the slightest, do you? And that bothers you, because you're supposed to love everyone, right? Dibella's knight. So you're planning to just keep at it until you either start liking me or I proposition you like however many other - "

Varanu stopped as she realized she was walking alone. She turned to see Esgeriad standing very still in the roadway. "Now that," he said quietly, "I really must ask you not to say. Among other things, it isn't true."

_If he's acting, he's very, very good at it. _"All right," Varanu said. "That one might have been out of line. Do you hear something?"

Both of them stood and contemplated the low growl that arose from the bushes ahead and on their left. Varanu hefted her scimitar. Her fingertips were still, but lots of things that weren't overtly evil were dangerous. _Or I'd be dead long since myself._

"I hope that is an animal," said Esgeriad. He squinted in the direction of the sound, and Varanu felt the tingle in the air as magicka was used. "And not, for example, a lone Khajiiti bandit wearing inadequately protective but, I may say, particularly clean and well-coordinated leather armor."

"Really? Why?" said Varanu.

"I would hate to have to kill a person," said Esgeriad. His well-modulated tenor carried very well in the quiet morning. "Who knows what would drive a carefully-groomed Khajiit to thieving on the open road, all alone? Particularly on a traveled road like this one, more often than not patrolled by Imperial Legionnaires? Such a person must be truly desperate. I think that's worthy of pity rather than slaughter, don't you?"

"That depends," Varanu said. "Some of these bandits are murdering scum. If that's what this one is, my plan is to slaughter him first and pity him afterwards."

"You really are rather bloodthirsty for a knight of Arkay," said Esgeriad. "Just because you spend all of your time fighting necromancers is no reason not to give people the benefit of the doubt."

Varanu observed the bushes rustle frantically for a second, then become still. "I think he ran away," she said.

Esgeriad squinted at the area again. "It appears you are right."

"Was that a life detection spell, or a charm?" she asked suspiciously. "The first time, I mean."

"Both," Esgeriad said. "The spell flare is sometimes difficult to see in full daylight."

"What happened to the, what was it, 'winning over of others by dishonest means?'" Varanu said as they walked onward.

"I've just saved his life," Esgeriad said. "I think under the circumstances I might be excused, don't you?" He glanced pointedly at Varanu. She did not sheathe her scimitar. "Ahem. I don't suppose you are able to heal?"

"I can," Varanu said. "Why?"

"You have been favoring your left leg since yesterday," Esgeriad said.

"Noticed that, hm? I think it goes with my particularly well-coordinated ebony armor and weapon. I have some matching scars, too. Oh, stop looking at me that way," she said. "I think I pulled something in my knee when one of the deadraisers shocked me yesterday. It must've healed crooked. I'll have Tychicus Varen look at it when I get to Bruma."

"It is Tychicus Varen we are going to see?" Esgeriad said.

"No, it is Tychicus Varen _I _am going to see," Varanu said. "You're only here because I can't outrun you with a gimp leg." _And because now I want to know who the hells you really are. That was no amateur's charm spell, and you don't get that kind of practice by doing people's hair._

"You may ride my horse, if you wish," Esgeriad said. "To spare your leg, that is to say."

"You're only saying that because you know I won't ride off with him," Varanu said.

"Very true," Esgeriad said. He smiled.

"Hmph," said Varanu. _Sure. You don't take to serving Dibella without being able to read people pretty well, right?_ she thought. _Of course, that's true of lots of _other _professions, too. Not all of them are even incompatible with being a knight for the Lady. He could be that and a thief, for one._

This worried her slightly. _Even if I didn't have a bad leg right now, it's possible he could be good enough to get through this armor. _The enchanted ebony had kept her alive through many a spell that ought to have been fatal. It was proof against disintegration, so that wasn't a worry, but… _He's good at telekinesis. He could probably bounce me off the ground headfirst, then pry me out of it and sell it for a couple of hundred thousand. Wouldn't even have to kill me._

She could prevent that. Probably. But to try and take him by surprise would require her to earnestly believe he meant her harm. Whatever her personal inclination, she hadn't forgotten the service to which she belonged. _If we make it to Bruma, I'll ask Tychicus. He'll be able to tell._

The two mer walked on through this set of ruminations. The object of Varanu's suspicion seemed completely unaware of it. Esgeriad strolled along beside his horse, looking pleasantly blank. Every so often he would brush his hair back when it slid over a slim shoulder. Once he took off his gauntlets, one at a time, so he could look over his fingernails as he walked. They were short, but unsurprisingly immaculate.

"Why do you even wear armor?" Varanu said after a while.

"It matches my hair," Esgeriad said.

"It doesn't bother you that it weighs two hundred pounds?" Varanu said.

"The encumbrance is perhaps half that, as it happens. I am wearing an amulet of feather," Esgeriad said.

"That's still a hundred pounds of dead weight," Varanu said.

Esgeriad shrugged. "Nothing else was the right color," he said firmly. "One must sometimes make sacrifices in the service of the Lady. Not, perhaps, so terrible as those expected of the knight of Arkay, but all the same."

Varanu sighed. _I wonder how many miles it is to Bruma?_


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: _Isn't it hilarious how racial stereotyping is okay, if the race is fictional? Ferengi and Vulcans come to mind, but it's just as true in every fantasy game ever made…_

Chapter 7

If you were to ask any person of any Cyrodilic race to describe to you the typical Imperial, the answer would look very much like the priest Tychicus Varen. Not too tall, they would say. Thick-bodied, though except for a few individuals you wouldn't see much fat on them. They're a hardworking people. Brown hair. Brown eyes. Small features, with a round head and a little beaky nose.

And this, so far as it went, was Tychicus Varen. This was also the point where any description of that race would tend to fall short of the man himself. A lot of people wouldn't notice the little odd things, because a lot of people didn't notice much outside the preoccupying concerns of surviving day by day in the difficult age following the closing of the Gates.

Perhaps he spoke a little formally for his race, but so did a lot of priests. Perhaps he held his eyes open a little wide, and tended not to blink. It would have been rude to speculate as to the cause, especially with skooma so easy to come by in most of the Empire and temptation so hard to resist for so many. He was a very good Restorationist, but again, so were many priests. If his mana seemed nearly bottomless, well, there were those among his brother servants who suspected he might have been a battlemage once upon a time.

Varanu noticed all of these things. It wasn't so much that she was naturally observant or inquisitive, though she had necessarily learned a little of both. "Ha," she said flatly.

"I beg your pardon, sister?" said Tychicus Varen. He raised his head where he knelt. "Do I cause you pain?"

"Hm? No, I still can't feel a thing," Varanu said. She glanced down at her numbed left leg, presently greaveless and laid open from below the knee to above it. A flattish bowl on the floor caught the occasional drip of blood, but there wasn't very much; the entire limb was presently both paralyzed and frozen. Normally this should have resulted in an inability to move it plus painful frostbite, but that never seemed to happen with Varen.

There wasn't much light in the long, low undercroft, but that didn't seem to bother him either.

"Good. In any case, I believe I am nearly finished here. I've reannealed the tendon in a more correct alignment. It should serve." They were alone in the Undercroft except for a lone priestess, who was having lunch at one of the room's two tables without apparently being bothered by the impromptu surgery taking place in the same room. Esgeriad, on the other hand, had taken one look at the blood, blanched, and politely excused himself.

"Thanks, Brother," said Varanu. She watched as the priest began to carefully heal the wound from the inside out, making sure everything stayed in place. "You seem to have some new faces in the Chapel," she said.

Varen's hands stopped moving for a second. A pained look crossed his face for an instant, then smoothed quickly away. The blue glow resumed as he went on closing the wound inch by inch. "I'm afraid Raius is dead," he said. "And Iridir with him. The other two I believe you did not know."

"What happened?" Varanu said. She had a fair idea. Priests of Arkay who died young generally hadn't fallen down the stairs.

"I'm afraid they fell foul of Namirans," said Tychicus Varen. "But that has been dealt with. That circle is closed. You come to me with an open one, is it not so?" He finished closing up her knee and cast a small dispel on it. Feeling returned instantly. "How is that?"

"Excellent," Varanu said. She flexed the limb experimentally. There was a blessed absence of pain. "As always." She rolled down her thin linens, then reached for her greave and began to buckle it back on. "And you're right. I need to find a necromancer. I thought you might be able to help me."

"This is one particular transgressor of the Boundary?" said Varen.

"Oh, yes. It seems he's come up with a method for adding to his life by using other people's. Typical experiment. It's just that this one seems to have succeeded, and now he's writing to the other ones about it."

Varen took up the bowl of blood, said a couple of syllables Varanu did not recognize, and waved his hand over it. The blood turned obligingly into water. He set it on the nearest table and proceeded to wash his hands. "Do you have an object that I may use, Sister?" he said.

"Not much of one," Varanu said. She produced the journal. "This wasn't his. It just talks about him."

The priest turned a wide, bright eye on the book as he dried his hands on a towel. He dabbed at a stain on his brown robe. "This is a tenuous link at best," he said. "It would require a powerful evil for me to find it thus."

"I'm afraid that won't be a problem," Varanu said. "I'm not sure I'd touch it without gloves on." Tychicus held out his hand anyway. She shrugged and gave him the bloodstained book. He didn't flinch overtly, but he did set it quickly on the table almost the instant he touched it.

"Ah. I see what you mean," he said. "I will need some time to… examine it. If you and your young friend would care for a meal while you wait, you are welcome."

"With a will, Brother, but we're not friends," Varanu said. "I'm not even sure who he actually is. He seems to have followed me from Anvil."

"You called him by name earlier," Tychicus said mildly. He went to a cupboard near the priestess who was eating. "Pardon me, Sister, I need two plates. Thank you."

"Yes, but I don't know who he _is," _said Varanu. She took off her gauntlets and hung them on her belt so she could lay out the forks and spoons Tychicus handed her. The priestess smiled at her encouragingly and went back to reading her book as she ate. "I think he's really just a knight. It's a good cover story, but I don't see how he could be for real. I mean, you've been inside Chapels of Dibella, right?"

"Once or twice," said Tychicus Varen.

"See a lot of people in heavy armor?"

"No," Tychicus said. He set out a loaf of bread and some apples, then stared bemusedly into the cupboard. "As it happens, I did not. Dibella's service is not a martial one for the most part."

"It's not that seriously followed most of the time, either," Varanu said. She looked over his shoulder and saw only a few leeks and a plate of shepherd's pie. "We'll be find with the bread and apples, Brother. …Not that Imperials are mostly all that religious, for people with this many gods, but Dibella especially tends to catch the short straw. She spends a lot of time being an excuse for people to do what they want to do anyway."

"Perhaps that is her will," said Tychicus. "The aedra are sometimes hard to fathom."

"Could be worse," Varanu said. "At least they're permanent. More or less."

"In any case, I sense no evil from this mer," said Tychicus Varen. "Nor, I suspect, do you."

"No, but that doesn't mean he's harmless," Varanu said. "Water under the bridge can still have dreugh in it. After what's mostly happened to the others, the Imperium has a reason to keep an eye on me and any other… survivorsWhat's left of the Imperium, that is. They've got to be even more paranoid than I am, in this day and age."

"Paranoia," said Varen. "Yes. I think perhaps you are a little too inclined to succumb, Sister. This is indeed an evil day. The Imperium has its own concerns." He extracted a single leek from the cupboard, looked at it thoughtfully, and went to set it on the second table beside the journal.

"I'm carrying the only ebony scimitar in the province," Varanu said. "They're going to figure it out sooner or later."

"I have wondered why you persist in so doing," said Tychicus Varen. "You have not struck me as a sentimental mer during our acquaintanceship to date."

"It's the only thing I ever got from Herthat was worth keeping," Varanu said. "And I may not be sentimental, but I _am _stubborn." She went to the door of the Undercroft and hauled it open. Nothing was visible except the steep stairwell. Varanu ascended the stone steps and looked around the cavernous Chapel, lit with bright shafts of color from the stained glass windows. There was no sign of the Altmer. She went back downstairs.

"He probably went to an inn," she said. "It'd be too much luck if I was rid of him that easily. Don't worry, I'll stay quiet."

"It does not matter," said Varen. He sat down in a chair and used the damp towel to nudge the journal toward him, then flipped it open and began to page slowly through it. Varanu put away the second place setting, then sat down across from the priestess. The two of them ate silently for a while. Varanu glanced at Tychicus Varen every so often. He never shook, or moaned, or glowed with an unearthly light while he was divining. He simply stared very intently at his object, and every so often his lips moved, posing a silent question. Once or twice he touched the book with his bare finger, but most of the time he turned the pages with the towel.

He also didn't blink for five minutes at a stretch. _That should hurt a normal Imperial, _Varanu thought as she bit into her second apple. The priestess had finished eating and was cleaning her plate by the simple expedient of scorching the pewter surface with a fire spell. A thin wisp of smoke rose toward the ceiling as she put it away.

"Blessings of Arkay," she said cheerfully as she went out.

"Light follow you," Varanu said. She cleaned her own plate the same way. There was a bottle of very thin mead in the cupboard, but she left it there. She settled for a drink from the small font on the back wall instead. Then she went and sat down again. The font at the back of the room burbled gently. After a few minutes she took out the scimitar and began to polish the blade with a rag she kept. Its surface was pitted and scratched, marks no armorer could remove. In Tamriel there are things harder and sharper than ebony. _Daedric steel, for one._

A little after that, the door opened and Esgeriad came inside. He looked at Varanu, then at the priest. "Do I interrupt?" he said.

"Shh," said Varanu.

The Altmer came and sat down across from Varanu, apparently impervious to her patently unencouraging glare. He glanced thoughtfully at the scimitar, then extracted a small jar and rag from somewhere in his armor. He drew his knife and inspected the curved blade critically. Then he took off his gauntlets, set them gently on the table, and began to polish the hilt of the knife. Every so often he held it up to check the reflection in the blade. Varanu rolled her eyes.

After a while he said, "How did you lose the end of your ear, Varanu?"

"None of your business," Varanu said.

"No, I suppose it isn't," Esgeriad said cheerily. He stared into the red gem on the end of the knife's pommel, made a satisfied noise, and sheathed the weapon. Then he began polishing his gauntlets. After a while one of the priestesses wandered back in. This one seemed to be a young Bosmer. She stared covertly at Esgeriad as she went to the cupboard. Varanu, keeping an eye on this behavior, observed the movement was rather aimless. Esgeriad glanced up and smiled at her, a blinding flash of white teeth. She stood there for an instant, wearing somewhat the same facial expression as a person recently hit in the head with a hammer, and then wandered dazedly out.

Varanu snickered.

Esgeriad raised his eyebrows politely. "Is something humorous?"

"Not funny so much as it is sad," Varanu said. _I was that age, once. I was just that destroyed by a pretty face, once. More than once, actually. Though I don't know that I ever fell for someone who turned out to be fond of other men._

"You don't think a great deal of the opposite sex, do you," Esgeriad said, and went back to polishing his gauntlets.

"I don't think much of anybody," Varanu said. "Male or female. I've not got the time and it's too risky."

"How very candid of you," Esgeriad said. "Especially for someone who but a moment ago declined to discuss a minor, if permanent, injury to her ear."

Varanu shrugged one shoulder. "I'm only telling you what's obvious."

A faint crunching noise drew her attention to the room's other table. Tychicus Varen sat back in his chair, nibbling thoughtfully on the white end of the leek. He swallowed.

"Did you find him?" Varanu said.

"No," said the priest. "The path from here to this deadraiser is cluttered and crooked. I can show you where to begin, and tell you one or two things that may be useful."

"You've never steered me wrong before," Varanu said.

Tychicus smiled slightly. "Thank you, Sister. This necromancer is not a deadraiser by birth and vocation. He is simply a clever, if an awful, hobbyist. To find him, you must seek out assassins."

"You mean the Dark Brotherhood?" Varanu said. "He's one of them?"

Tychicus shrugged and took another bite of the leek. "I cannot tell. You will have to seek out the Sanctuary near Anvil and inquire there. He himself probably is not there, but that is where the information is."

"I have to walk into a Dark Brotherhood Sanctuary and walk _out _again?" Varanu said.

"You will not be alone," Tychicus said. "Though I suspect you will not be glad to hear what I am about to tell you."

Varanu looked at Esgeriad. "Tell me you're joking," she said.

"I have never been known to joke," said Tychicus Varen.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: _I've referred to the Anvil Sanctuary in other stories, but it's completely my own invention. I remind the reader that in the TFC alternate timeline, the various Speakers have not been killed by Mathieu Bellafont because Lucien got the diary to the Hand in time to convince them. I assume Mathieu got far enough to kill at least one of the Black Hand, allowing me to invent another character as the Speaker._

Chapter 8

"His entire purpose in life is to look pretty," Varanu said. "He can't even stand the sight of blood. How's he going to stay upright long enough to do any good? Or was my first guess right?"

"That is a very unkind thing to say," Esgeriad said severely. He tucked away his polishing rag and jar and stood up. The reflection of the Undercroft's candles was blinding on his golden cuirass.

"In answer to your second question, no," Tychicus Varen said. He stood up as well, but slowly. "He is no one's agent but Dibella's. Insofar as he has told you anything, it has been true. But you are incorrect to assume he is therefore ineffectual, Sister."

"Oh, I can do several useful things," Esgeriad said.

"You do realize there's a strong risk of death involved here?" Varanu said. Tychicus was looking at her as if he could see through her, and she couldn't meet his eyes.

"For the Lady's sake, I can face death," Esgeriad said.

"As long as there's no blood?" Varanu said dryly.

"If it's mine, I won't have to tolerate it for long," Esgeriad pointed out.

"Good point," Varanu said. "But we're not in a temple of Dibella now. This won't be your kind of work."

"There is no greater work for a servant of Dibella than to stand by a friend," Esgeriad said.

"I am not your friend," Varanu said.

"That's all right. I can still be yours," Esgeriad said. His smile was utterly disarming. Varanu rolled her eyes again as she turned to the priest.

"Brother Varen," she said. "Are you - "

"I am quite sure," said the priest. "If you are to have any chance of success, he must accompany you." Varanu made herself look him in the eye, but he was obviously completely serious. _He always is. It's part of the reason I like him. _

"All right," she said. "If you think of anything else I should know, I'll be down at the Fighter's Guild tonight. Thanks for fixing my leg."

"To assist the servant of Arkay is my privilege," Varen said. "Light follow you, sister."

"And you," Varanu said. There didn't seem anything else to say. She left the Chapel with Esgeriad close behind, looking customarily pleased with himself. The Bosmer priestess stared after them as they went.

It was snowing outside. Varanu shook her head as flakes settled on her lashes. More snow crunched underfoot as she walked. _Nice not to be limping any more. _

_Nice to think that when I march into a Dark Brotherhood sanctuary and get my throat cut I'll have a nice even gait, _she thought flatlyOne or two other women ogled her companion as they walked, but most of Bruma's population were Nords. _And Sven's people like a little more rugged look to their men, mostly. _

"It's a bit chilly, isn't it?" said Esgeriad.

"For once, I agree with you," Varanu said. "It's spring everywhere _else_ in Cyrodiil. Walk faster. I don't suppose you're in the Fighters' Guild, by any chance?"

"Oh, no," said Esgeriad. "But I am a member in good standing with the Mages' Guild, which is directly next door, if I recall correctly."

"You do," Varanu said. "I'm surprised, though. All those fine-looking young men at the Guild."

Esgeriad raised his eyebrows. "You seem to have made a certain fundamental assumption which is not, in fact, correct," he said.

"What? You told me you weren't interested in women," Varanu said.

"I told you I don't trifle with their affections," Esgeriad said. "That is not the same thing. I do not, ahem, prefer the company of men."

"You've lost me, then," Varanu said.

"I have sworn off romantic dalliances of any kind," Esgeriad said. "I am going to assume you know what the word _celibate _means."

Varanu stared at him for a second, startled, then turned to watch her feet as she went up the wooden steps to the next boardwalk. Bruma was a steeply-built city, arranged in tiers on a hill. Damp made the steps slippery. "I know what it means. It just never occurred to me that a knight of Dibella could choose that. Or would." _It's not as if I really chose it myself. There's just nobody I'd trust enough to sleep with._

"Early experience suggests to me that one may love a woman, or be her friend," Esgeriad said. "One may have few lovers without veering into the territory of causing more pain than joy. It is not, however, possible to have too many friends. It is the way I've chosen."

"That's more cynical than I expected of you," Varanu said.

"I've observed that one of your less endearing characteristics is a tendency to leap to conclusions," Esgeriad said. His smile was a little tight this time. "Why did the idea that I might have taken a vow of abstinence never occur to you?"

"You're male and you're breathing in and out," Varanu said.

Esgeriad narrowed his almond eyes. "And you think _I_ am cynical?"

"You've got me there," Varanu said. "Until tomorrow at dawn, Esgeriad."

"Until the morning, servant of Arkay," said Esgeriad. Varanu probably should have been pleased at the fact that she'd managed to annoy him. _Except I shouldn't have felt the need to try. _She was, after many years' unfortunately constant practice, well in control of her physical impulses. _But I've also been avoiding anyone I'd be attracted to for any length of time. And he's gorgeous, and he won't go away. _Anyone would be cranky under the circumstances, she told herself.

So now she was looking at a very long walk back to Anvil, and very probably an untimely and painful death at the end of it. _I should expect no more. I knew what I was choosing when I started to walk this walk._

---

Very far South of Bruma, deep in a cave in a hillside, another person was thinking very much the same thing. He found no more comfort in the thought than had Varanu. But then, as a member of the Black Hand, Marynd had a much more detailed idea of the manner of his death should he prove a failure. He'd heard what they were going to do to Lucien, back when the survivors of the Hand were convinced he was a traitor.

That point was moot, of course. Lucien was dead anyway. Marynd steepled his fingers over his wooden desk as he sat in the dim room that served him as bedroom and office. Rumor had it, or rather specific and detailed information from Marynd's subordinates had it, that Lucien had been cut down by his own Sanctuary. _That elf is running it now. What was her name? Ah, yes. Arquen. _There weren't so many merish Speakers in Cyrodiil, or so one heard.

Of course, there weren't many Redguards, either. Marynd permitted himself a small smile, dry as gravedust and brief as blinking. He'd taken a very different approach to his post than had Lucien. Among other things, he lived in the Sanctuary with his brothers and sisters, not hidden away from them as if in fear. He didn't trust them in the way one would normally use the term, but he did understand them. There were areas in which they could be depended upon. _Even Dra'thani. _

The Khajiiti vampire was not the cause of his current rumination. His Sanctuary was falling on hard times. He'd had particularly bad luck recruiting recently. The Nord had shown real promise, and then gone and gotten himself killed by, of all people, the Hero of Kvatch (and _why _had he chosen such a target for his _first _real kill?). Then there had been Negrin Ravenclaw, who had seemed sadistic enough to do very well. He'd argued with the others, drunk a new recruit to death, and gotten himself thrown out. Marynd now heard that he had gone off on some mercenary endeavor outside Bravil and never come back.

That was perhaps just as well. Vampires normally got along together about as well as cats in a sack, in Marynd's experience. No pun intended in Dra'thani's case. Marynd was not known for his sense of humor, thank the Night Mother.

There was a soft _crunch _outside the door, a footfall on the glass-embedded rug Marynd kept there. Then he heard a discreet tap at the door.

"Come in, Nee Ja," Marynd said. There was no one else it could be but his one Shadowscale. Dra'thani considered it a point of pride to get through the door without his noticing. Moebius would assume his omnipotent Speaker knew he was coming and not bother to knock. Michel Severn would verbally ask permission to enter. Only Nee Ja would both politely announce her presence by making a noise and knock quietly to show respect.

The Argonian woman slid inside. She wore the customary dark armor, and the green scales of her sleek head were startling in contrast. Nee Ja was tall even for an Argonian woman, but her entire posture was deeply self-effacing. She seemed shorter than she was. "Good morning, Speaker," she said. "This one apologizes for disturbing you."

"I assume you have a reason," Marynd said. "What is it? Speak informally. The tenses don't translate well."

Nee ja nodded. "I'm worried about Brother Moebius," she said.

"Yes?" said Marynd, when she didn't seem about to go on.

"I'm concerned that the next life he takes may be his own," Nee Ja said. "Please forgive this o – my presumption. It seems to me that we can ill afford to lose him."

"That's not your judgment to make," said Marynd.

"No, Speaker," Nee Ja said. She bowed her head, but did not drop her eyes. Marynd examined one thin pupil thoughtfully.

"You're sincere," he said. "But you came anyway. What's he done now?" The Imperial had permission to continue his usual entertainment, provided he cleaned up after himself and didn't do the sort of crippling damage that would hamper his duties. The Argonian was certainly used to that by now.

"I think he is trying to convince Dra'thani to kill him," Nee Ja said.

"Dra'thani isn't amenable to persuasion," Marynd said. _She'd better not be. I gave her specific instructions not to kill the masochistic little bastard. _

"There is more," said Nee Ja. She hesitated again.

"There had better be," Marynd said. "Schoolyard tattling should be beneath you, Nee Ja."

"He's been collecting things," said the Argonian. "He doesn't know I saw him. An ironwood knife with a sharp edge, and a steel one with a fire enchantment. I have also heard him ask Michel to teach him a frenzy spell. Individual circumstances that are of no importance. But taken with his recent attempts to provoke her… We have had so many deaths here recently. I think he is beginning to be envious, Speaker."

"Yes, I see," Marynd said. "I think I know what to do. Oh, and I have a contract for you, Nee Ja." He considered his options as he gave the Shadowscale her instructions. Clearly it was time Moebius spent a few days locked in a small room with no access to sharp things. That should be punishment enough to make him take his Speaker's instructions more seriously. Possibly an unusually soft mattress could be arranged as well. Despite his eccentricities, Moebius was unusually talented with edged weapons and very stealthy for an Imperial. He could not, as Nee Ja said, be easily spared.

Marynd got up and went to look for Dra'thani. She would probably volunteer her quarters once he'd explained. All things considered, she was very reasonable for a vampire.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Varanu rose very early the next day. She found difficulty sleeping in a room with other people in it even if they were quiet, and that was not the case in the Bruma guildhall. She had a better breakfast than she'd seen in a while in the dining room before she left. It was otherwise empty. _No wonder, as late as they were all up last night. _She hadn't seen anyone she knew, so she'd kept to herself and mostly been left alone. Mostly. _And hopefully that Nord won't remember anything when he wakes up._

She stepped outside the guild hall to find Esgeriad already mounted up. He sat the gray gelding with aplomb on the snowy ground below the boardwalk. A roan mare stood placidly beside him.

"Good morning," he said, yesterday's irritation apparently quite forgotten. "I do hope you can ride. It will make the trip much shorter." He watched her slyly from behind a strand of golden hair, waiting for this fact to overcome any initial objection. Varanu glared at him for being right as she mounted up.

"What do I owe you?" she said.

"Not a thing, dear l – Varanu. As it happens, the mare cost me nothing. I have a friend in town who was willing to lend her to me."

"Are you sure you're celibate, Esgeriad?" Varanu said. She patted the mare's neck, testing. The animal huffed good-naturedly. _We'll see how well she takes to carrying somebody in heavy armor. She's not as big as the gelding._

"Oh, one doesn't easily forget something like that," Esgeriad said, with no apparent trace of irony. "As it happens, I spent the evening yesterday trimming the hair of everyone in her household. Including servants. I fancy I've become rather good at the Orcish coup knot."

"Not too many mer can say that," Varanu said.

"Indeed," said Esgeriad. "And how did you spend the evening?"

"Sword practice," Varanu said. "Repaired my armor. Turned down a job that actually would've paid money. The usual."

"I have never heard that votaries of Arkay may not profit by their vocation," Esgeriad said.

"It's not a rule," Varanu said. The mare followed the gelding down the street without any direction from the reins. _He's borrowed her before. _"But it's how it generally works out. I can't take jobs that don't fit the duty. It's part of the vow I've made."

"You must have saved for a long time to buy that armor," Esgeriad said as they rode out of the city gate and onto the road.

"I didn't buy this," Varanu said. "I was given it. Also part of the agreement. The god will have it back when I'm finished."

"And the scimitar?" said Esgeriad. She shot him a look. He shrugged. "It is an unusual weapon."

"That's mine," Varanu said. "Though I didn't buy it, either. I've had it so long I half think it will turn to dust when I do. What about you?"

"My armor, you mean? I bought it," Esgeriad said. "I found my way fairly early, so I began saving when I was very young."

"You don't look exactly old now," Varanu said.

"It's the service I've chosen," Esgeriad said.

"Smug fetcher," Varanu said. She refrained from asking the obvious question. _If he's actually older than I am, I don't want to know. _"See? That's why I don't like Altmeri."

"Is it indeed?" Esgeriad said. He was combing his fingers through the gelding's mane as he rode. "And whom _do _you like?"

Varanu pondered this silently. "I get on pretty well with Nords," she said. "And Khajiits and Argonians."

"I note that this list lacks any reference to Dunmer," said Esgeriad.

"Lots of necromancers are Dunmeri," said Varanu. "In fact, most necromancers are either Breton or some kind of mer."

"It seems an odd basis on which to write off four races, including your own."

_Especially my own. _Varanu shrugged. "I've got a funny bias about people trying to kill me."

"I wonder if there is another reason?" Esgeriad said.

"If there is, you're never going to know it," Varanu said. "Talk about something else."

Esgeriad smiled sweetly. "Ah, so there _is _another reason."

"I said _talk _about _something else, _mer," Varanu said.

"I could sing. I am told I have quite a good singing voice."

"Be my guest," Varanu said, relaxing slightly. "I'm sure we'll run into bandits with bows and arrows sooner or later."

Esgeriad laughed. Then he started to sing anyway. Varanu stared resolutely over her mare's head. The merish ear is generally more apt to pick out flaws in a singing voice than the human one. The Altmer's voice was flawless, a perfect liquid tenor. _And I'd say the odds of our being shot aren't very good. I've heard Khajiit have unusually good hearing. They'll probably be hypnotized. _

Varanu couldn't sing. She couldn't even plead injury; she'd had a bitterly thin voice since she was a girl. _Guess it's just as well I chose Arkay, then, _she thought dryly.

The trip went faster than she would have liked to admit, but it was still many long hours to Anvil. Esgeriad sang intermittently all the way. He stopped a few miles outside the city. It wasn't long after that Varanu saw a wagon turning off the road up ahead. It was driven by a lone Imperial, and it seemed to be stacked up with…

"Pillows?" she said. "Huh. Where are you going, serjo?"

"Uh…" The Imperial scratched his head. His clothes were worn but very clean, and he'd tied his dark hair back behind his head. His face had seen some hard use. He shot an uneasy look, not at Varanu, but at Esgeriad. "Got to drive 'em out to the cave."

"And what cave is that, friend?" Esgeriad said.

"Can't remember the name," said the man. "Used to be a mine or something. Nobody goes in there now. I heard where there's bad folk thereabouts."

"In that case, my fellow paladin and I had better escort you," Esgeriad said.

The man looked grateful. "Thanks much, Sir."

"Oh, there's no _way _it's going to be that easy," Varanu said as they turned their horses to flank the cart. "A bunch of assassins just order a cartful of pillows delivered right to their lair?"

"Got a mattress, too," said the carter. "Goosedown. Best kind."

"And you're going to unload them and leave them on the ground?" Varanu said.

"Nah. Leaving the cart. Going to ride the horse back. Part of the deal."

"Hm," Varanu said. _It's not impossible. Everybody knows there's a Sanctuary somewhere around here, and they've got to get their furnishings and so on from somewhere. _

The cave wasn't actually very far off the road, it was just well hidden by a grove of oak trees. The wooden door was easy to miss in the deep shade. Varanu found it by the alarming creak it made at the slightest breeze. It was set into a depression in the side of a little hillock, but it looked like it might fall off the hinges at any moment. Varanu listened carefully as the carter pulled up a few yards off, dismounted, and began to unhitch the horse from the cart.

Esgeriad dismounted gracefully from his horse. "Pardon me, Sir," he said to the carter. "Would you be willing to return our horses to the livery stable? For a fee?"

"But then how'll you get back to town?" said the carter, pausing with one foot in a stirrup. "It'll be getting dark soon."

Varanu dismounted carefully. Balance was important, wearing heavy armor. "I doubt that'll be a problem," she said. She let Esgeriad pay the man. It wasn't her horse, anyway.

She listened until the carter and the horses were out of hearing. Then she listened a little longer, ignoring the mana charge emanating from Esgeriad. Somehow they'd ended up standing back to back. _The best detect life spell in the entire world can only see through maybe two barriers total, and caves have a lot of those_. She didn't really expect to hear anything. Assassins didn't generally advertise their presence.

"Someone is coming," Esgeriad said. "Up through the cave."

"I'm going to feel really stupid if it turns out to be a goblin," Varanu said.

In the event, it was an Orc. He brushed the cave door open unconcernedly, looked around the clearing, and went to the cart. He gave the two mer no more than a casual glance. Varanu considered this. _He's sort of glowing around the edges. Easy to miss, because it's green and so is he. _

He wasn't big for an Orc, but this still left him larger than Varanu or Esgeriad. He seemed to be wearing nothing more than a ragged pair of trousers.

"What are you doing?" said Varanu.

The Orc stopped and set down the pillow he'd just picked up. "Unloading the cart?" he said. He sounded slightly puzzled, as if he knew what he was doing but couldn't quite remember why. "Got to take all the pillows downstairs. And the mattress."

"Why?" said Varanu.

The Orc frowned, wrinkling his heavy brow. Varanu, who was a reasonable judge of age in most races, put him in his late twenties or early thirties. He wasn't bad looking, for an Orc. His tonsured hair hung in a neat braid over one shoulder. "Because she told me to," he said finally.

"What's _she _going to use them for?" Varanu said.

The Orc shrugged. "Dunno. Don't expect to find out. Said she's going to kill me after that. Didn't seem like there was much point in asking."

"Oh, this has gone on _quite _long enough," said Esgeriad. He moved away from Varanu, raised a hand, and cast. A translucent sphere of magicka hit the Orc with a _poof._ The green light dissipated quickly, leaving him blinking at the two mer.

"What just happened?" he said.

"I dispelled the charm," Esgeriad said. "I am going to suppose it was placed on you by an assassin."

"I guess," said the Orc. "She'd got black armor on." He looked around the clearing quickly, then shook his head as if to clear it. "There were some other ones, too. Don't remember that too well."

"Were you in the cave?" said Varanu.

"Yep," said the Orc. "There's a lever you pull that looks like a torch. It's probably still open, though. I left it so I could carry the…" He frowned at the cart. "What's going on? Really?"

"You don't want to know," Varanu said. "If you've got a home, start for it. Otherwise, Anvil's that way." She jerked a thumb toward the city. "I'd run."

The Orc looked at her and at Esgeriad. "Thanks," he said. Then he turned and jogged off into the sunset.

Varanu drew her scimitar. "What's in the cave, Esgeriad?"

"Five or six of something," he said. "I'm afraid the auras are rather vague. They could be living or Undead. The spell does not discriminate. I'm not going to have to kill anything, am I?"

"Not to worry," Varanu said as she pushed open the wooden door. "The odds are good you won't live long enough to try."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

"I don't suppose you can see in the dark?" Varanu said as the door closed behind them.

"No," Esgeriad said. "As it happens, I cannot." He didn't sound frightened. He sounded mildly peeved. Varanu felt a small twang of disorienting recognition. _A lot of Altmeri sound just like that right before I have to fry them. _

"Arkay, give me light," Varanu said, and raised her free hand. A green glow sprang up around her. "Hopefully anyone who sees it will think it's that poor s'wit we sent off outside." She raised the scimitar to the guard and walked down the steep slope into the cave.

The light moved forward. It leapt out into the empty darkness of the first cavern, embracing every shadow with the eerie gleam. Two skeletons in cuirasses and boots swung around toward it. They stood swaying, bony fingers clutching rusty maces. Varanu watched the empty sockets fix on herself and the light. One of the creatures hissed. The two started forward, heads bobbing on the ends of their spines.

Varanu felt the heat at her fingertips. _Fire waiting to happen._

"So much for that theory," she said.

And there was light.

---

Marynd heard the distant _whoosh _from all the way inside his office with the door closed. He rose instantly and went to the door. He opened it just far enough to scan outside, then slid out into the main Sanctuary. He raised one hand and quietly made himself invisible as he went.

The Sanctuary was low and oblong, not hacked from the rock but adapted from the existing cavern. Tapestries hung on the clammy stone walls, and there were dark rugs on the floor. The ceiling and the upper part of the walls were black from woodsmoke. The guttering torches danced up higher as a gust of air blew in through the Sanctuary, smelling of burnt bone.

Dra'thani squatted on her haunches beside one of the wooden support beams that were left over from the old mine. She was thin and small for her race. Her coat was short and very coarse, as heavily kinked as Marynd's own cropped hair. In a place with no definition for the words _Devon Rex, _there was no frame of reference for the arched and narrow shape of her muzzle. Marynd merely thought it looked unusual. Dra'thani might have had color to her coat once upon a time, but sixty years of porphyric hemophilia had leached it all away. The pattern of stripes and spots on her face shaded from white to black with every tincture in between. Except for her tail, it was all of her that was visible with her regular issued armor; she wore no hood.

The very end of the tail twitched as Marynd approached. "This one greets her present Speaker," she said.

_I wish I knew how she does it. _He was still invisible, and he could swear his footsteps had made no detectable sound. On his way to becoming a Speaker, he'd had plenty of occasion for creeping up on people with Khajiiti hearing.

"The Guardians have found an intruder," Marynd said. _A Speaker doesn't ask what is happening. He should already know. _He stared down the length of the room. "And it appears our door is open. I assume there's a good reason for this."

"This one sent her dinner out to unload the pillows and mattress," Dra'thani said. "It was under a strong charm. The ones who walk the cavern would not be disturbed by its presence."

"Nor are they," said Marynd. "Unless he was much better at Destruction magicka than most Orcs." He listened to the two sets of quiet footsteps approaching from behind him. Neither of the other two should be able to see him. It would be an interesting test.

"No magician it was," Dra'thani said scornfully. "Else this one would not have snared it nearly so easily. Nearly begging me to drink it dry, it was."

"You don't do that when _I _beg you," said Moebius's voice. It was more pleasant than one would expect. Especially one who had seen his face. Marynd glanced over his shoulder, but the Imperial had his hood up.

"Because it causes you more discomfort when I refrain," Dra'thani said. "This one does not like you that well."

"Speaker? Are you here?" said Michel Severn. The Breton walked up on the other side of the pillar, looking around. Unlike the others, he wore a plain dark robe and sandals.

"Yes," said Marynd.

There was another roar of flame from out in the cavern, and the hiss and rattle of a Dark Guardian falling apart. Marynd listened to the sound of a woman's voice chanting in a language he didn't know. It was just as well. To listen to the words was to feel an almost physical pain, like a light in his eyes.

Dra'thani laid her ears back against her skull for an instant. "Arkay is here. Kill this interloper we must, and on the instant."

"Not yet," said Marynd. "I want to know how she found us."

---

Varanu stared down at the sifting dust around her feet as she finished the Rite. "Esgeriad," she said afterwards. "You did something. What did you do?" She'd felt the charge of magicka hit her from behind just before the mace hit her from in front. She'd barely felt it, and now shattered bits of the steel mace lay around her on the ground.

"I shielded you," Esgeriad said. He walked up beside her, eyes wide and yellow in the fiery light from the burning scimitar. He was breathing quickly, as if he'd been running, but he showed no disposition to faint or flee. "That is not a normal fire spell."

"We'll talk about it later," Varanu said. "If there is a later." She went forward, looking around warily. She didn't look directly at the end of her own scimitar. The afterimages in her eyes would be too blinding in the dark cave.

The door _was _still open. A stick of wood protruded at an odd angle from the ground nearby, a scorched rag wrapped around the visible end. The room beyond it was long and low, sparsely furnished and apparently quite empty. _Sure. They wouldn't be assassins if they were that easy to see._

Varanu swept the scimitar in a rapid arc as she stepped through the door, sweeping the air to either side, in front and above. You only had to have something drop on your head once before you got wise to _that _one. At least, if you planned to go on being a paladin of Arkay and not take on a new career in the growing field of stumbling and rotting.

Nothing fell on her head. The room remained stubbornly vacant. _But I know there's at least one Undead here, or the blade wouldn't stay lit up on its own. And I know there are at least three more who are evil. And not just venal steal-your-neighbor's-rake evil. They're serving an evil god. The place is reeking with it._

"All right," Varanu said, raising her voice to be heard. "You know I'm here, and I know you're here, all four of you. I killed your skeletons because they attacked me first. I don't actually mean you any harm." She snorted. "You've done me a good turn once or twice, though you don't know it."

"Is that so?" said a voice, and a Redguard in a black robe dissolved out of the air beside a wooden beam that was wedged between ceiling and floor. "And what favor have we done for the servant of the aedra, whose gods we despise?"

"You know who the Morag Tong are?" Varanu said.

"Yes," he said. Varanu placed him in his early forties. There were gray streaks in his closely-shaven black hair. His eyes were very dark under his hood.

"Then you know what happens to them whenever they wander out of Vvardenfell," Varanu said. "That's why I ever went to Mournhold to start with. I'm not thanking you for that, mind you; it was probably the biggest mistake I've ever made. But the Tong couldn't follow me, and it was because they were afraid of _you_."

Beside her, Esgeriad stood shaking, his gauntleted hands clasped tightly behind him. His eyes were still wide open, staring blindly at the floor. _You've never seen real evil, have you? To me it's fire in my veins. What is it to you? Is it only fear and death? Is that why you chose Dibella? _She couldn't worry about him now. She had to watch the Redguard, who was moving slowly forward. His hands were empty. Varanu was not reassured.

"That's the trouble with lawful assassination," said the Redguard. "It's so limiting. I'm not saying I'll allow you to live, but what information did you suppose you would find here? Other than the closely kept secret of our location, which should be reason enough for your death?"

"It can't be that closely kept if you've got wagons coming out here," Varanu said. "The carter knew his way here, and I doubt he's the only one."

The Redguard's expression of chilly impassivity did not flicker, but he stopped moving forward. "Don't make me repeat the question," he said.

Varanu shrugged. She did not lower the scimitar. "I'm looking for a necromancer."

"We don't _raise_ the dead, mer," said the human.

"But you have Undeads here, serjo," she said. "There's one in this room. I'm going to assume it's a vampire." _And if I go down, I'm taking at least that one with me. It doesn't matter how fast they are once you set them on fire. _"Someone here knows where I can find the one doing the Experiment, and someone knows exactly why I mean by that phrase."

"Speaker," said a man's voice from one side of the room.

"You're aware of these things?" said the Redguard. He did not look around.

"It's nothing to do with me, Speaker," said the voice. A shadow detached from another one and became a Breton in a plain robe. He was younger than the Redguard, and his eyes were the exotic pale blue unique to some humans. "But my last contract involved a… certain individual. He was in possession of a letter which I have kept."

"And it deals with matters relevant to necromancy?" said the Redguard.

"Yes, Speaker," said the Breton mage. "An experiment to prolong his life by the expenditure of others. I couldn't attempt it even if I wanted to. I'm no Mystic."

"Then it seems your information is correct, servant of Arkay," the Redguard said. Someone behind him hissed at the name. Varanu couldn't see them, but she was certain it was the vampire. "Now tell me how you came to learn what I didn't know about my own Sanctuary."

"I know a seer," Varanu said. She smiled tightly. "I think you'll understand why I won't tell you more than that.'

"I could obtain that information from you," said the Redguard. The deep, cold eyes flickered to Esgeriad and back to her. "I know someone who would derive great enjoyment from the process, in fact." Someone giggled from another shadow. The voice was male. "There is no reason for us to tell you what you want to know."

Varanu shrugged. The burning scimitar crackled gently in the quiet room. "I won't leave until you do," she said.

"It's very likely you won't leave at all," said the Breton mage.

"There are only three of you," Esgeriad said unexpectedly. His voice was a little unsteady, but he didn't stutter. "You can kill us. But you'll lose at least one more."

"This prey cannot count," said a woman's voice. _A Khajiiti vampire? You don't see that very often, _Varanu thought, with the part of her brain that was still thinking clearly instead of frozen in terror and hoping frantically not to die.

"Oh, no," Esgeriad whispered. Varanu didn't dare look at him, but her quick glance showed his face was utterly white. "I count very well." There was a slither of fabric against stone, and a _thump. _At the back of the room, a throwing knife skittered across bare stone and fetched up against the edge of a black rug. The Redguard actually turned his head at the sound. A moment later a gauntleted hand at the end of a black-clad arm slid out of the shadow beside it. The fingers twitched once.

Varanu stared at the plain knife beside the inert hand. _He must've been about to throw it, and Esgeriad saw him somehow. But… What did he do? _The Altmer hadn't budged an inch. His own knife was still sheathed, and he still stood with his hands tightly clenched behind his back, as if to keep them from shaking.

Varanu's eyes could not penetrate the deep shadow, but the Redguard's evidently could. His face, when he turned back, was very still. A slight narrowing of the eyes was the only sign of any emotion. "Michel," he said. "Tell her where to find the necromancer."

"But - "

"Moebius has what he wanted," the Redguard said, syllables ticking like the click of dry bones. "Give her the letter."

"As the Speaker says," said the Breton. He reached very slowly inside his robe and extracted a folded piece of paper. He held it out in front of him and let go. It wafted gently across the room and into Esgeriad's trembling fingers.

"Open it," Varanu said. The Altmer slowly unfolded the paper and stared at it.

"This is the letter," he said.

"Get out of here," said the Redguard. "Before I change my mind."

Varanu jerked her head at the door. Esgeriad disappeared, and she heard his stumbling steps behind her. She backed slowly over the threshold. She could hear herself breathing. When she was all the way out she kicked the lever and watched the door slam shut, revealing the dark bas relief carved into the outside.

"Subtle," she said. Her own voice sounded shaky in her ears, but there was no time for that. She seized Esgeriad's limp arm with her free hand and started for the way out. "Come on, Dibella's knight. Time to go."

"Actually," he said weakly, and she heard a crackle of paper. The Altmer recited a few words. Then a cloud of pink sparks erupted around them. The world spun and fell away, and then the haze cleared and they stood in the cool dim of a Chapel of the Nine.

Someone shrieked. Varanu hastily retracted what magicka she had left. The fire went out, or rather went in, and she sheathed the scimitar. Beside her, Esgeriad collapsed onto a bench facing the altar. He was still very pale. The two people who had been worshipping were on their way out, walking quickly.

"Where are we?" Varanu said. "What have you done?"

"I used a scroll of Divine Intervention," Esgeriad said. He leaned forward and buried his face in his hands. His hair tumbled down around them. "We're in Anvil. Oh, sweet Lady, forgive me of my sins…"


	11. Chapter 11

_Author's_ _Note: this update comes with an edit of the latter part of the last chapter that you'll probably want to read. Thank you to those who provided constructive criticism – that scene really wasn't clear enough._

Chapter 11

"Anvil," Varanu repeated numbly. _So we're going to live after all. Until they find us, at least. _Varanu breathed deeply and looked at Esgeriad. He sat with his face hidden, motionless.

"How did you kill that assassin, anyway?" she said after a minute. "I'm going to assume it was some kind of telekinesis, but you obviously didn't just slam his head into the wall. There would've been a noise."

"I've taken a life," Esgeriad said, without moving. "And he was laughing. I crushed his heart until it stopped beating and he was _laughing._"

"You _squeezed _him to death?" Varanu said. _Maybe I _do _owe him an apology. _

Esgeriad did not dignify this with an answer. His stillness was beginning to disturb her.

"They were Dark Brotherhood. They're not like other people," Varanu said.

"That changes nothing," Esgeriad said glumly. "I am ruined. Dibella will never have me now."

"Oh, yes, she will," Varanu said. "Maybe it's not what she likes _best, _but the Nine do agree on some things. Come on." She got to her feet and reached for his arm.

"What are you doing?" Esgeriad said as he was rudely yanked upright.

"Proving my point." Varanu dragged him toward the altar of Dibella beside the back wall. It was in almost the opposite place in the row from the altar of Arkay. She held Esgeriad's unresisting hand against the stone.

Somewhere nearby, a woman's voice laughed. "You have acted in friendship. Dibella loves you!" whispered a voice in Varanu's ear, and then she very distinctly felt someone kiss her on the cheek. She looked around quickly as she let go of Esgeria'd hand. He raised it to his own cheek, staring down at the little altar.

"What just happened?" Varanu said. "Never mind, I don't want to know." She turned and went to make her obeisance to the altar of Arkay. She dangled the unguent vial over the stone carefully.

"Thanks for bringing me out," she said. "Wherever Sithis is, I hope you scared him."

The vial lit up, perhaps a little brighter than normal. Varanu smiled briefly as she put it away. She turned around and almost tripped over Esgeriad.

"What a curious way to speak to an aedra," Esgeriad said.

"I'm having this odd sense that I've done this before," Varanu said. "Better?"

"Yes," said Esgeriad quietly. "Though I will never be the same." He'd regained a little color, gold instead of white. Perhaps she was getting used to him. He wasn't quite as blinding to look at as when she'd first seen him here.

"I understand," Varanu said.

"Forgive me," Esgeriad said. "I don't see how you could. All of it seems so easy for you."

She opened her mouth to make a sharp retort, but a look at him stopped her. The customary Altmeri inscrutability seemed to have deserted him. If a male of any species might weep in public, it ought to be Esgeriad, but his eyes were dry. His expression of stunned pain, like someone who has just been hit by a friend, struck a chord of a very old song for Varanu Ashazzarnitashpi.

She looked around quickly, debating with herself. The Chapel proper was still empty; whoever had cried out earlier had evidently left without drawing the attention of any clergy.

"Come sit down, Esgeriad," she said. "I'll tell you a story."

---

Once upon a time there was a Dunmer.

There was no especially fortuitous or frightening aspect to her birth. She was born under the aspect of the Warrior to ordinary parents. They herded their shalk and guar with the rest of their tribe out at the edge of the grasslands, near the ash country. They didn't much care for outlanders. They didn't much care for anyone outside the tribe, even other Dunmeri.

She grew to be a tall, strong girl for her race. Given her birth sign, this surprised no one. Sometimes she was inclined to get into fights. Since entertainment was very limited out on the steppe, and as she was respectful of her parents, no one minded much. "One day she'll find the right kind of man, and he'll settle her down," her mother was wont to say. Most people agreed. Strong women bore strong children. It was well known.

Time drew on, and before too long she was seventeen and ready for her quest of proving. The time had come to demonstrate her worthiness to the tribe and earn the respect due a grown woman. Such quests usually weren't too difficult, for girls. One might be sent to find a rare herb, or sleep the night in a corral with the more contentious of the stock – things an Ashlander woman had better be able to accomplish anyway, if she meant to survive and provide for a family. Swords and bows and such were for the menfolk, and knives an ordinary tool or a desperate last resort.

But then her father had a dream.

The father of his grandfather had been a hero, very long ago. Such a great hero, in fact, that his bones were buried in the Ghost Fence to protect Vvardenfell from the evil of Red Mountain. Many heroes were buried in the columns of the Ghost Fence in that day. The tribe was not happy to give up its own little fence, where his bones had hung for many years already, but even that contentious people understood. In their long wanderings, they had seen the ash blowing down from the dreadful height in the middle of the plain. They remembered the stories of the great battle, of blessed Vivec and Dagoth Ur.

But now there were blue skies over Red Mountain, and Great-Grandfather wanted to come home. He told his descendant exactly where to find the bones, and just how and where to strike the great column to make a hole without dangerously unbalancing the structure.

The father was troubled, but there was no gainsaying an ancestor. The girl was told what she must do, and given a small sack of food and a crude hammer. She left the camp with a song in her heart. She had never hoped to be given a real challenge.

It didn't take so long to get to Red Mountain on guar-back. It didn't even take long to free Great-Grandfather, whose bones called to her and whose resting place was utterly desolate. The iridescent slick of the Fence itself stretched high above her head as it ran between the posts, and the girl was awed by the power of so many souls in one place, but that didn't stop her.

He was near the bottom. Apparently there had been other heroes greater than he. The girl made her hole with the hammer, reached in with blind faith, and came out with the hide-wrapped package that bore the amulet of her tribe.

The Fence didn't seem to notice his absence, and the girl thought nothing more of it as she went triumphantly home. Great-Grandfather's bones were strung about the tribe's corral, protecting its livelihood from thieves and evil spirits.

The trouble came when the Buoyant Armigers found out. Apparently quite a few great-grandfathers had felt the longing for home in their dead bones, now that Dagoth Ur had fallen.

The girl never did learn how they found her.

---

"So they tried to come and take him back," Varanu said. "I caught two of them trying to unstring him from the corral. I could hear him cursing them, you know that? I couldn't let them take him. I can't imagine how I could possibly have killed that idiot. Dumb luck, I guess. The other one ran off, and I took off so I wouldn't get in trouble. It was a long, long way from there to Mournhold. Too long a story for now. It's enough to say I was desperate to belong somewhere and about half-starved by the time I got there. The Temple took me in, and I wasn't really cut out for a priestess. I started out as a guard and sort of worked my way up from there."

Esgeriad sat back on the wooden pew and looked at her in something like disbelief. "You killed your first mer when you were seventeen years old?" he said.

Varanu nodded. "I thought I was going to die," she said. "Nothing was ever the same after that."

"But you did it again and again, and not by accident," Esgeriad said.

Varanu shrugged. "Sometimes it's you or them. The world is full of people who will kill you just because they can, especially in this day and age. You've probably been safe because you've got charm spells, and shiny armor that's obviously too heavy for an ordinary person to wear. I started out with neither of those." She smiled tightly. "I still don't know any charm spells."

"I… yes." Esgeriad ran his gauntlets over his hair. "I suppose you could be right, Knight of Arkay." His tone was very polite. Varanu sighed inwardly. Telling him the story had given him time to compose himself, which was all she'd really expected of it.

"I could," she said. "You still have that letter?"


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Esgeriad handed over the paper. Varanu unfolded the crumpled letter carefully with her gauntlets and stared down at it. The words were hard to read. They seemed to want to unfocus in front of her eyes. Whichever part of the page she wasn't looking directly at writhed away from vision, dissolving into squiggles and loops and blots. To touch it was to have the overwhelming sensation that something was watching her.

"There's no reading it in here," she said. "We're in a holy place and it's too evil." She turned for the door, holding it gingerly. She kept getting the impression it might try to wriggle away.

The impression of evil was stronger outside in the salty night air, but the paper was legible. Varanu slid behind a small flowering tree and leaned against the outer wall of the Chapel, cold stone at her back. Esgeriad stood beside the tree, fingering a white blossom pensively. _I give him ten seconds 'til one or more of those is in his hair, or something really is seriously wrong._

She turned her attention to the paper. _To my good friend Eusebius… _The handwriting was surprisingly clear and easy to read, a well-rounded script with big looping letters. It wasn't a very long letter, mostly just a greeting and a set of instructions. She'd known what to expect from the method, but it was all she could do not to set fire to the filthy thing when she read this:

_The soul that you use will add more to your life if it belongs to a victim with many years left to them. Thus, the younger the better. I have found excellent success with young children on those few occasions when I could obtain them, but they are difficult to acquire without raising suspicion even in the Imperial City._

"I hope daedra eat his reeking guts," Varanu muttered. "Filthy worthless son of a whore…"

_Immortals might conceivably add more years as well, but they are likewise hard to procure (and further, to restrain). I've had time to amass enough servants here in the sewers beneath the Arena to deal with that, but there are other concerns. The use of a vampire or daedra's soul has ramifications of its own. The practitioner should use them individually and at long intervals, lest he develop inconvenient appetites and weaknesses. _

_I recommend against the use of priests and priestesses of the Divines. Satisfying as it may be, they have a tendency to die during the invocation to Molag Bal early in the process, thus preventing the use of the soul in a gem. I am not sure if this is divine intervention, in order to foil the daedra, or merely an oversensitivity to the type of magic involved._

_Feel free to pass on this information to whomever may find it of use, but take care you do not pass on with it my true name and location. There are too many who would interrupt the Experiment if they could._

_Yrs. truly, etc., _

_Glorian Entragius_

Varanu raised her eyes from the paper. Esgeriad looked back gravely. There was a white blossom tucked behind his left ear.

"Knight of Dibella," she said.

"Yes, servant of Arkay."

"I think I know where this slithering whoreson fetcher is," Varanu said. "If he's got as many Undead wandering around the Imperial City sewers as he implies, he won't be that hard to find. This is the point where you'll have to make a decision."

"Yes," Esgeriad said. A long lock of hair slid forward as he bowed his head.

"I was wrong to suppose you were useless. I do apologize for that."

"It is not that which I will have trouble forgiving," Esgeriad said quietly.

"I know," Varanu said. "Which is why you'll have to decide. You've seen something ugly, and you made it out alive. You even saved my life, which is a debt I can't repay. But what I'm about to go into will be uglier than the Anvil Sanctuary. Any loathsome thing you could imagine could be down in those sewers. And I'm going to have to kill Glorian Entragius. He's adding to his life by stealing other people's. He's not going to listen to reason." _The sane ones are always the worst._

"Then you will lead me to a place where it is likely I must kill again," Esgeriad said.

"Almost certain," Varanu said, as gently as possible.

"I'm not sure I can bear that," Esgeriad said. Varanu waited. The Altmer plucked another flower from the tree's low branches and held it up before his face. "Yet the priest said you must fail without me. And failure in this case must certainly mean a terrible death, or worse."

"Arkay will protect me from the _or worse _part," Varanu said. "And it's possible the help you were meant to give me is what you've already done. We can't know."

Esgeriad lowered the delicate bloom and fixed her with a yellow gaze. "And what do you want, Varanu?" he said.

"That doesn't matter," Varanu said. "I'll follow the service I've chosen."

"Then so must I," Esgeriad said. He let go the flower, and it drifted slowly downwards and out of sight. "And the way of Dibella is not to abandon a friend in need. Where you go, I will go."

"I've been no kind of friend to you," Varanu said. "Look what I've gotten you into."

"No less am I yours for that," Esgeriad said. His sly little smile could make an atheist find religion, an amazon seriously rethink her views on gender relations, and quite possibly the birds fall out of the trees. "I believe in love and beauty. That doesn't mean I believe life is fair."

Varanu took her eyes from his face quickly. "Well, then," she said. "I'd… I'd better collect a couple of things from the Guild before we start walking. We can't stay here tonight, close as it is to that Sanctuary."

"Very well," Esgeriad said. "I will follow you and wait outside."

A small breeze ruffled Varanu's cropped hair as she edged out from behind the other side of the tree and started up the street. The wind was blowing off the sea, the way it did most nights in Anvil. There were stone walls between the city and the water, but the wind made its way inside just the same. _And fog, _Varanu thought, searching for any thought that might relieve the uncomfortable heat in her face. _It's clearer tonight than you usually see. _The moon was huge and red, well on its way toward setting already.

Beside her, Esgeriad looked up at the stars as he walked. He did not trip as he stepped up onto the sidewalk. Lights glowed in a few windows, but not too many people were up late at night in Anvil.

A light was on in the shop at the end of the street, next to the pond with the mermaid statue. It was a reddish color. Varanu glanced at it curiously as she went by, but she sensed no ill from it. _Probably the shopkeeper enchants his own merchandise. Lower overhead._

There was a light on at the Guild, too. There always was. Varanu left Esgeriad outside staring up at the sky as she opened the door just enough to slide through. The warm glow of a couple of candlesticks lit the training area, presently empty except for an Imperial in worn iron who was wiping down a matching axe.

She glanced up from the floor cushion where she sat as Varanu came in. The double take was subtle enough that most people would have missed it.

"Something wrong?" Varanu said.

"Er," said the Imperial, staring at some point above Varanu's head. "No."

Varanu glanced upward, hand on her sword, but there was nothing there. She shot the Imperial a suspicious look and went on past and up the stairs. There was usually some kind of food on the table in quarters, or at least in the cupboards. Fighters were hungry people, and Azzan kept the place well-stocked.

The dining room was also lit by candles, and also empty except for one person. Sven the Ugly looked up from the slab of steak he was eating as Varanu came in. He raised his eyebrows as he looked at her. Then he started to chuckle.

"It's been a really lousy day," Varanu said, speaking loudly to be heard over the Nord's snicker. "I rode a horse for more miles than I cared to count with an Altmer singing in my ear, it's totally possible the Dark Brotherhood is after me, and I'm going on what is almost certainly a suicidal trip to the Imperial City in about fifteen minutes. So there'd better be a really good reason why you're laughing, Sven."

Sven swallowed a quick drink of ale, his broad shoulders still quivering. "You mentioned an Altmer the other day," he said. "This the same one?"

"Yes," Varanu said.

"So is that how come there are flowers in your hair?"

"_What?"_ Varanu snatched off a gauntlet and ran a hand over her head. It came away with a white blossom in it. She glared at the flower, then tossed it down onto the table and combed through again. A careful search dislodged two more. "A plague of cliff racers on all telekinetics," she said.

"Aww," Sven said. He grinned knowingly, then took another sip of his ale. "Too bad he hasn't improved your temper any."

"It's not that kind of thing," Varanu said. "He's another paladin and he's helping me find a necromancer."

"Likes other men?" Sven hazarded.

"Celibate," Varanu said glumly. She went to the cupboard and dug out a small sack, then began filling it with whatever she could find. "He wants to be my friend."

"You're kidding," said Sven the Ugly. He watched her ongoing progress.

"Ha," said Varanu.

"And you believe that?" Sven said.

"You would, too, if you'd seen him," Varanu said. "Ah hah." She unearthed a rare knob of mandrake root and put it in her belt pouch instead of in the food bag. "Most people who say they're devoted to Dibella are into getting their ashes hauled as often as possible - "

"Amen to that," said Sven, hoisting his pewter mug.

" - They don't care all that much about Love and Friendship as, you know, principles."

"And this one does?" Sven said.

"Un huh," Varanu said.

"Sounds like a twit to me," Sven said.

"He is," Varanu said. "That's just not all of it. Goodbye, Sven."

"So long," said Sven the Ugly.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Varanu stamped out the door with the sack over one shoulder. Esgeriad, leaning against a pillar of the porch, straightened gracefully as he caught sight of her. He made a _tsk-tsk_ noise.

"Such a pity," he said. "They contrasted beautifully with your skin."

"Shut up," Varanu said.

"Why don't you wear a helmet, then?" Esgeriad said. He kept up easily as she turned toward the livery stable.

"I spend a lot of time underground and they interfere with your peripheral vision," Varanu said.

"I might have known you would have a _practical _reason," Esgeriad sniffed.

"You're not going to be torn to bits by zombies," Varanu said. "You're going to be killed in your sleep. It will solve all my problems in one fell swoop. Arkay won't want me any more, so I won't have to go get killed in the sewers, and the Dark Brotherhood will probably hire me, so I won't have to worry about _them _any more either. It's a perfect solution."

"Then do try not to disfigure my face," Esgeriad said cheerily.

"May kwama infest the graves of your ancestors."

"You don't say."

Twenty minutes later, they were in the saddle and cutting across country toward the City. It was possible to get there on the Imperial roads, but the way was longer. "This way isn't as safe," Varanu said as they went. A few insects were audible, but for the most part the spring evening was very quiet. The moon was down, and they were in the dark. "But two armored mer on horseback are usually likely to be left alone."

"I have seldom been bothered when alone," Esgeriad said. "I hear the bandits often prey on pilgrims and refugees."

"True."

"They are usually amenable to persuasion, however." Varanu could probably have made out his features by starlight, but she chose not to. She could practically _hear_ him smirking.

"Smug fetcher. How'd you get to be better than ninety percent of the mages in the Guild, anyway? This anything to do with how old you really are?"

"Partly," Esgeriad said. "In fifty years I have had a long time to practice. Part of it is what I was born with. And part of it is simply the blessing of Dibella. Is there a reason why you choose not to light our way? Shall I do so?"

_He _is _older than I am, _Varanu thought. _I knew it. _"No. Like I said, we'll _probably _be left alone. And like _you _said, I'm not wearing a helmet. I'd rather not be any more visible than I have to."

"Life detection spells exist for a reason, you know," Esgeriad said. "I will tell you if we are near anything that is large enough to be sentient."

"It's your life," Varanu said, and raised a hand. "Light."

---

Marynd stood at the base of the sloping passage up to the surface, a few yards from the door to the Sanctuary. The sun was rising. A thin slice of it, pale and dilute, shone under the broken door and lit up the dusty hem of his black robe. Dra'thani stood to his left and Michel Severn to his right. The Khajiit was stripped of her armor, clad only in plain linen. She shifted uneasily on her naked paw pads, but did not step further away from the light.

Nee Ja stood well to one side with her hands folded in front of her. The Argonian was absolutely still, not even her tail twitching.

"You haven't broken a Tenet," Marynd said. "But both of you have failed your Sanctuary and your Speaker, and for that there is a penalty. Dra'thani, your carelessness in leaving the door open permitted interlopers to enter our Sanctuary. Michel, you should have detected their approach far in advance, as you did with the carter." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "Nee Ja was absent and is not culpable. Now accept your penance."

"Yes, Speaker," said Michel Severn. The Breton was outwardly composed, but his blue eyes darted to Marynd as he spoke, betraying nerves at work.

"Yes, Speaker," said Dra'thani. She looked up toward the brightening doorway. Marynd, who was watching for it, saw the very slight twitch of one ear as she realized what was coming.

"Dra'thani will stand where I am standing," Marynd said. "You will not move from this spot until the sun is above the door. If you try to move before I tell you, I'll kill you. In the unlikely event that you strike me down, Nee Ja has instructions to finish what I've begun."

"This one understands," Dra'thani said. "It would have pleased the crazy Imperial for others to suffer in his behalf. It is fitting."

Marynd moved to one side. Dra'thani stepped delicately into the exact spot he had occupied. She hissed as the sun struck her ankles, but she stood absolutely square to the doorway, facing into the light. Steam rose from her paws and ankles, and there was a faint smell of scorching fur.

"And I?" Michel said. "What shall I do?"

"You will ensure that Dra'thani does not die afterwards," Marynd said. He did not look directly at the Breton, but he was watching from the corner of one eye as he spoke. "And, since your healing skill will not be sufficient, you will do it with your blood. Since I am certain you do not share our dead brother's particular leanings, I expect it to be very painful."

He had not taken the man by surprise, at least. Severn tightened his bony jaw, but that was his only reaction. "Yes, Speaker."

"Oh, very good," Dra'thani said. She spoke without apparent effort, although the sun was creeping up her calves. The gray and white fur on her feet was already visibly singed. "This one applauds the Speaker's ingenuity. But even if this one were to kill Severn, which the Speaker will not wish, it would not be enough. It is not a big man, even for a human."

"No," Marynd said. "But I am."

He _had _surprised them with that. Even Nee Ja's head jerked around to stare at him. "But Speaker," she said.

"Silence," Marynd said quietly. The Shadowscale closed her jaws with a small _click_. "I am Speaker here. My duty is to predict your mistakes, and prevent them. I will therefore share the penalty with you, as I shared the error."

"Foolish," Dra'thani said. "Weak." Her ears shrank against her skull as she squinted at the rising sunlight. Nee Ja made a shocked sound at the audacity of this, but did not disagree.

"The second isn't true, or you could easily have killed me in my sleep before now," Marynd said. "I know you've considered it. You've faced the Spirit of Sithis before, as I have. As for the first, well, we'll see."

Marynd was well satisfied to see a flicker of alarm cross Michel Severn's face for an instant. _Now he must consider whether Dra'thani will disobey me._

The three of them stood and watched the light creep up Dra'thani's body. It arrived in uneven bars as the sun came through the slats of the door, affording momentary relief and then redoubled torture as one block of light added to the next. The linen garments might as well not have been there, for all the protection they afforded. The stink of burnt fur grew stronger. The Khajiiti vampire did not move throughout, though her tail lashed from time to time at the pain. Her feet were in full sun the entire time, and by the time the light had reached her chest, her claws had turned to dust and her toes were utterly black. A bar of light fell naturally across her hands where they hung at her sides, and she did not withdraw them from the light either. The claws flickered in and out of her fingers as bits of her hair and flesh turned to dust and drifted, swirling motes in the sun.

In the instant that the sun came over the top of the door, Marynd said, "That's enough."

The vampire whirled and sprang for the darkest corner of the cavern the instant the words were out of his mouth. A trail of smoke hung in the hair behind her. She crouched against the wall, teeth bared. Her gums were scorched, drawn further back from her fangs so that they seemed even longer.

"And now, Michel," Marynd said. "We'll see exactly how much you're willing to do for your Sanctuary."

"Yes," said Michel Severn. He turned and went slowly toward Dra'thani. The irises of her eyes glowed blue-white as she watched him. Marynd followed, watching. Nee Ja's footsteps were silent, but he knew she was just behind him.

_If he's truly afraid, she _will _kill him, _he thought dispassionately_. It's the one area where her command of herself falters, just like every other vampire. And if she does, it will be the end of my Sanctuary._

_And, in the brief part of my life that remains after the rest of the Hand discover what I've done, I will be sorry to have lost them._

Severn knelt down and held out his left hand. "You're not touching my throat with _those _teeth, woman," he said. Dra'thani made a sound that could have been a hiss or a laugh, and reached out and closed her blackened fingers around his arm. She drew him within reach slowly, without unnecessary roughness, and then she leaned forward and sank her front teeth into his wrist. She moved her head for an instant, trying for the best possible seal – always difficult, for a Khajiit – and then she made a sound like a person inhaling.

Severn looked momentarily pained. Then he slumped sideways. Dra'thani's darting hand stopped his head from hitting the stone floor of the cavern. She detached her lips from his wrist and licked her teeth. As Marynd watched, the blackest parts of her skin began to turn gray, but it wasn't enough. She was still missing half of one of her toes, and the scorched areas were obviously not fully healed (whatever _that_ was, in a vampire).

She looked up at Marynd. "I have spared his life," she said. And anyone could _say_ that, but Severn was still visibly breathing, panting as his heart tried to get his depleted blood supply back to his brain.

"Get up," Marynd said. "Nee Ja, you will see to Michel." Nee Ja slid past him and knelt to lift the Breton up onto one shoulder. She knew better than to protest further. Dra'thani straightened up slowly as the Argonian padded back into the Sanctuary.

"The Speaker sends away his Shadowscale," Dra'thani said. "Most loyal of his brothers and sisters, yes. This is not wise."

"On the contrary," Marynd said. "Nee Ja is loyal to the Brotherhood and to the Dark God, but her thinking is very linear. You, on the other hand… You don't want to be Speaker, because it would be too much trouble. You don't want another Speaker, who won't know you as well as I do. Your only recourse is to keep me alive for as long as you can."

He pushed back the sleeve of his robe and held out his hand. He was a full head taller than Dra'thani, and the pawed fingers reaching for his wrist looked childlike in comparison to his.

"If the Speaker is wrong, it is very briefly he will regret his mistake," said Dra'thani, and bit him.


	14. Chapter 14

_Here I said back at Chapter 1 that I wasn't going to add any vampires, and I've just realized I broke my promise. Darn it, and I was setting up the Anvil folks to be an important feature later on, too…_

_Oh, well. Sorry. Mistake regarding Ungolim's race is now fixed thanks to a helpful review._

Chapter 14

"I hate this place," muttered Varanu, staring up at the walls of the Imperial City. She stood outside the stable, waiting while Esgeriad bargained for lodging for their horses. The wall was so high that at this time of day it threw a complete shadow over the small building. Judging by the height of the grass, it must be a temporary condition, but Varanu didn't care for it. _The shadow of the Imperium falls on everything. All roads lead back here._

_And if there is anything a paladin of Arkay hates, it's shadow._

"How much?" she asked as Esgeriad stepped out from under the overhang that covered several bales of hay, one dyspeptic-looking paint horse, and a slightly dazed Orc.

"Nothing," Esgeriad said. "Nothing at all. I was able to barter my services instead."

"You didn't cut the Orc's hair. I'd have seen you."

"No, but I do have certain curative abilities that were, in this case, of some service. Ahem."

"Hm," Varanu said. "I guess we might as well get inside and start looking." She fingered the hilt of the scimitar as they walked toward the gates. A man in the steel plate armor of the Imperial Legion watched them with the expression of bored suspicion known to guards everywhere. Like many Imperial legionnaires, a heavy build plus full steel armor lent him somewhat the same appearance as a giant teakettle. He stood in the shadow beside one open gate, watching them, but he said nothing as they walked past and into the Talos Plaza district.

_At least, it must've been a plaza once, _Varanu thought. Three years after the closing of the gates, most buildings had gone from ruined to merely incomplete, stone stacked on stone and wooden roofs thrown up haphazardly on the uneven walls. The great round space in the middle had been cleared, and men were working to put the cobbles back in place even now. The sidewalk was buckled here and there, as if in an earthquake.

People were coming and going here, but not very many. One or two cast wary glances at the two mer. The workmen didn't even look up.

"And where shall we begin?" Esgeriad said.

"You're the one people talk to. You tell me."

"Inns are often a good place to hear rumors," Esgeriad said. "There is one over there." He inclined his head in the direction of a stone building exactly like the ones on either side of it. Only a hanging wooden sign over the door distinguished it as a place of business. A corner of the sign was missing. The broken edge was burnt.

_So the owner has a sense of drama, _Varanu thought dryly. _Or in three years he'd have replaced his sign. _There would be people to and from work at all hours of day and night in a place like the Imperial City. _Better chance we'll meet someone who knows what's going on instead of the kind of lushes that'd be in a taproom this time of day anywhere else. For a species that makes so much booze, it beats me why humans can't hold their liquor._

She stopped beside the door. Esgeriad pushed it open and stood holding it. He looked at her expectantly.

"You go first," Varanu said.

He raised one eyebrow. Supercilious suspicion is an expression that fits the Altmeri facial structure very well. "Why?"

"Do you really want their first impression to be a surly-looking Dunmer in dented armor?"

"As you wish," Esgeriad said. He stepped inside. He still managed to hold the edge of the door open as she came in behind him. Varanu did her best to ignore this. "You might try scowling less. It will make you wrinkle faster, you know."

"The least of my problems," Varanu said. She looked the room over quickly. Four or five people were eating, and a Dunmer and an Imperial leaned against the bar. The barkeep blinked at the sight of Esgeriad and completely missed Varanu. _Ha. _

"Something I can do for you this fine day?" he said.

"Blessings of Dibella, sir," Esgeriad said pleasantly. "Ale for myself and my fellow knight." He went up and laid a few septims unostentatiously on the bar. The barkeep picked one up and bit it before he gathered up the others. He set a pair of bottles and two mugs on the bar. Varanu watched him open and pour, listening carefully to the room around her. There was no overt intimation of evil. A faint _ptt_ noise, like someone sticking a pushpin into corkboard, came from over her head. She glanced casually upwards. Shadows shifted here and there, and then she saw a tail flicker down out of the shadow of a beam and up again.

"Is there supposed to be a Khajiit in your rafters, sera?" she asked.

The barkeep didn't even look up as he spoke. "Ah'dira, you get down here right this minute. What did I tell you about playing up there?"

A Khajiit in a plain brown dress landed beside him with a soft _thump. _She was slender, tawny, and very small, and her ears were neither notched nor pierced. _Maybe thirteen years old. _"This one is very sorry," she said, without any sign of contrition whatsoever. "This one has finished making the beds."

One or two of the other patrons chuckled. The Argonian said, "Ah, silly child. Long has it been since this one was so young."

"Get on with you and buy us some more bread," the barkeep said, not unkindly. "This is no place for you." He handed her a couple more septims and jerked his head toward the back of the taproom.

"Buy yourself a ribbon as well," Esgeriad said, and flicked another septim at her. She caught it easily in a dun-furred hand.

"Thank you, sir," she said prettily, and scampered off.

"Poor mite," the barkeep said, shaking his head. He glanced at Esgeriad, as if he had been the one to make the original comment. Varanu rolled her eyes. "Sorry. She doesn't know any better. She's well-behaved for having lost her mother so young, and I couldn't find anybody else after Sarah disappeared so suddenly."

"Disappeared?" Esgeriad said politely. Varanu turned her back to the bar and leaned there, sipping her ale as she listened.

"She went to the Arena one afternoon last month and I haven't seen her since," said the Imperial. There was a rasping noise as he scratched his balding head. "I told the Legion, but they're too busy to worry about one lost girl in this day and age. I'm sure they thought she'd just run off with some man."

"Do you think so?" Esgeriad said.

"No, I don't," the bartender said. "She was a good girl, and she liked it here. She would have given some notice if she planned to leave." He sighed. "I suppose we'll never know what happened to her."

_I hope not, _Varanu thought. "How old was she?" There was a slight pause as the barkeep adjusted to the fact of her existence.

"I never knew," he said. "She couldn't have been more than seventeen." Varanu compared this mentally against the contents of the necromancer's letter.

"And she was going to the Arena?" Esgeriad said.

"Sure, but I've got no way to know if she ever made it there or not."

"No, I suppose not," Esgeriad said.

-----

Marynd was awakened that night by an unexpected silence.

Not silence, exactly. Lying exhausted but unable to sleep, still weak from blood loss, Marynd was not at his most alert. Even so, the sound of indrawn breath was clear. He had heard no sound of footsteps. That ruled out both Dra'thani and Severn. _Either Nee Ja has rethought her loyalties, which would be quite a surprise, or…_

"Listener," Marynd said, and opened his eyes as he sat up. They were already well-adjusted to the dark, and Marynd had good night vision for a human. Thus, he had no trouble making out the Bosmer in the green silk tunic who stood just inside the door to his quarters. Ungolim was not a conspicuous mer. He looked a great deal like many others of his race, middle-height and long-eared and solemn. The plain bow slung over one shoulder was incongruous with his fine clothes, but it was the only thing out of place.

The Listener for the Dark Brotherhood smiled. "One day you're going to outthink yourself, Marynd," he said.

"Perhaps I already have," Marynd said. He stood up slowly. "Moebius is dead."

"Unfortunate, though not entirely unforeseen," said Ungolim. "This particular Sanctuary has never done well. You have perhaps heard some rumor relevant to the demise of your predecessor."

"Yes," said Marynd, whose information was considerably better than rumor. The Listener must know that, of course. "But that excuses nothing."

"I am pleased that you understand that," Ungolim said. "I come to you with a contract." Marynd listened impassively as the Bosmer explained what it was. It was not exactly the form he had expected his doom to take. _As good as any other, and better than some._

"I understand," Marynd said at last. "Though it surprises me that there's anyone who knows this… person… well enough to pray for his death."

"Oh, never by name," Ungolim said. "But the Night Mother sees and hears what mortal eye and ear may not. And that is not the only reason for the contract. The Imperium under Chancellor Ocato remains fragile, even after three years. Overt chaos will not well serve our purposes, and that is what will result if this situation is left to fester."

"Yes," Marynd. "Yes, I see."

"Should you complete the contract, of course, the reward will be substantial," Ungolim said. "Should you fail, you will face Sithis without shame, having died in performance of your duties. Do I make myself clear?"

Marynd permitted himself a small, grim smile. "Perfectly," he said. "Your Speaker will obey."

"Good." Ungolim's glance flickered momentarily toward Marynd's bandaged wrist. "And next time, find someone else to feed your vampire."

"Yes, Listener," said Marynd.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

"I think you may be jumping to conclusions, Knight of Arkay," Esgeriad said. He looked curiously around as they went up one of the walkways that radiated from the Arena to the wall of the District. A few people stared at him. He smiled back. "As the innkeeper said, there is no way to know that this poor young woman ever arrived here."

"No, but I'll be surprised if she didn't," Varanu said. She watched a tall human with cauliflower ears go by. More people went to and fro here than in Talos Plaza, of all ages and races. _And some are worse scarred-up than I am, _Varanu thought. Some were still limping, and one or two were even still bleeding from fresh injuries on their faces and arms. _Of course. These are the ones who were in good enough shape to walk out. _"Under the Arena District is exactly the perfect place for a necromancer to be hiding. People come and go all the time. People carry bodies out all the time, too. It's probably the easiest place in town to disappear from. Vivec's ears, but I hate it here."

"I agree," Esgeriad said. He shuddered eloquently. "The taking of life for sport is an abominable thing."

"Better or worse than the taking of it for money?" Varanu said. "Some of these are here because they'd rather risk death by stabbing than by starving." She thought of the Dark Brotherhood again. They tended to recur to her mind frequently over the last day or so. _It's making me even twitchier than usual, or I'd never have noticed that Khajiit in the inn. _"I meant _here _as in the City."

"Really? Why?" Esgeriad said mildly. He smiled blandly at a passing fellow Altmer with a crooked nose. She'd survived her share of Arena matches, judging by the state of her skin, but she blushed just like a schoolgirl.

Varanu considered this for a while. In the end what she said was, "Too much cover."

"Dear lady, I found you in the open wood. There were any number of places of concealment there and along the road. You expressed no such distaste at the time."

"It's not all the kind you can see," Varanu said. "Out there people _need _bushes to hide behind. Here you can hide behind your own face. And people do." She shot him a look. "And don't call me that."

"As you will, Knight of Arkay. What precisely are we looking for?"

"Manhole covers. I'd rather not have to explain to anyone why we're trying to pry up the grates off the floor of the Bloodworks."

Esgeriad arched a graceful brow. "I assume you would also prefer not to have to carry me down into the sewers."

"Yes, but I wasn't going to say that," Varanu said. _Gods, I'm wearing off on him._

"How very diplomatic of you," murmured the Altmer. "Are you certain we're prepared for this?"

"Ha. I'm carrying so many welkynd stones I don't know why I'm not clanking when I walk, and I've already done the…" Varanu stopped in the middle of the stone walkway. _Idiot. I'm always ready for it, but there's no reason why he would be. _

"Done what?" Esgeriad said.

"You're right," Varanu said. "Come over here." She turned and headed for the shade of a pile of crates stacked up beside the path. A blond girl and an Argonian were sparring nearbly, in the midst of an inexplicable small pavement with stone columns on each side of it. They didn't even notice her. It was perhaps a better measure of their intense concentration that they didn't notice Esgeriad, either.

Varanu fished her vial out of her cuirass front as she edged behind the crates, out of sight of the pathway and the fighters. The Altmer watched her lift it over her head. "I've seen that before," he said warily.

"Blessed by the aedra, which makes it an Unguent of Arkay," Varanu said as she removed the stopper. "I use it for a lot of things. One of those is the Last Unction."

"The Last… ?" Esgeriad started to say, and stopped. "I believe I have heard of that also."

"Probably," Varanu said. "Not everybody would know, but a lot of priests do. This will prevent you being raised from the dead against your will, if your faith is strong enough. I think yours is."

"What shall I do, then?" Esgeriad said quietly.

"Kneel," Varanu said. Even at a moment like this one, he glanced downward to make sure he was on grass instead of dirt before he did it. Varanu knew from experience how impossible it was to kneel gracefully in heavy armor. Esgeriad managed.

Varanu removed her gauntlets and dabbed the oil on the tip of one finger. She pressed it firmly to Esgeriad's forehead and said the words that had served her for all the time of her service to the aedra:

"_Arkay, save this fool from his own stupidity,__Defend him from evil,__And bring him safe to you __When he finally gets himself killed.__So be it."_ "That was the Last Unction?" Esgeriad said, when she did not seem about to continue. Varanu removed her thumb, squatted to wipe it on the grass, and put her gauntlets back on. "Is this some sort of joke?"

"Dead serious," Varanu said.

Esgeriad tilted his head back as she stood up. "Mada – Knight of Arkay, you cannot possibly expect me to believe that the solemn ceremony passed down through generations of the priests of an aedra contains the words 'Save this fool from his own stupidity.'"

"You win," Varanu said. "I just wanted to see you on your knees again." Esgeriad blinked, fluttering his pale lashes. "Oh, get up already. The ceremony that was handed down changes every few years. I just chose to use my own version. They're the same words I said for myself."

"That surprises me not at all," Esgeriad said as he stood up. "And there is a manhole cover over there, if you really are intent on going down into the sewers today."

"I don't see any point in waiting," Varanu said. She drew her scimitar as she turned toward the round of rusty iron. It was nearly hidden by the tall grass. _Probably why he saw it and I didn't. I don't see so well in the bright sun any more._

---

Branwen almost got her nose broken again as she watched the two mer climb down into the hole. She hunched up her shoulder just in time to have her partner's scaly fist hit that instead of her face. "You are not paying attention," said Saliith reproachfully. "You may depend on this one's goodwill. This will not be the case in the Arena."

"Sorry," Branwen said, rubbing her shoulder. "Where do you think they're going?"

The Argonian sighed and turned to look. "Down into the sewer, it appears. No doubt they are after the vampires for those idiots in the Order."

"I guess so," Branwen said.

"Either way, it is not our business," the Argonian said. "Come. You will need to dodge faster than that if you want to stay alive out in the sand."

---

Esgeriad made a protesting noise at the smell as they climbed down the ladder. "It's a sewer," Varanu said. "You do know what sewers are _for, _don't you? Leave that cover off."

"Have no worries on that score," Esgeriad said. "Putting it back would require me to touch it."

"Make yourself useful and cast that detection spell of yours," Varanu said. It was awkward to climb one-handed, but she had no intention of sheathing her scimitar. At last her questing foot touched solid pavement and she stepped down onto a slimy walkway. A channel full of cloudy water was just visible in the light from the manhole, flowing sluggishly off to her right. She moved aside to let Esgeriad come down. The ends of her fingers tingled.

"There's _something_ down here," Varanu said. "Not as bad as we're looking for, but evil."

"There is nothing anywhere nea – oh, Dear."

Varanu looked around quickly. The dim tunnel stretched off in both directions, curving slightly into the middle distance. "I don't see anything."

"They are invisible," Esgeriad said. "And moving very quickly. Varanu - "

Varanu let go the fire just in time to see it limn the shape of a hand reaching for her hilt. The invisibility cleared to show the form of a very gaunt Imperial just before he burst entirely into flames. Varanu glanced quickly back to verify Esgeriad's position behind her, then swept the scimitar in a swift arc in front and to either side of herself. Nothing else caught fire. The Imperial was already dust.

"So there _are _vampires down here," Varanu said. "And they're apparently not all that afraid of the daylight."

"Not enough for your purposes," said a voice. Four more forms faded out of the shadow, but they stood well back. Varanu smiled tightly.

"I didn't even hear you coming," she said. "You _are _fast. And you're Imperials – or you were - and most Imperials take a long time learning to stay invisible that well." Esgeriad had become very quiet behind her. She heard faint noises indicating he was trying not to gag. _Charred flesh is a very hard smell to ignore when you're not used to it._

"The Dark Gift has its advantages," said one of the vampires. Varanu surveyed the lantern-jawed man and his tattered tunic and hose. The garments had probably once been colored, but were now a general uneven gray.

"But still – that's pretty stupid," Varanu said. "I'm standing right under the manhole. It would've made more sense to wait until we'd moved further down the tunnel. Then we'd be out of the light _and _less likely to be heard up top." She looked at the group narrowly. They were staying as far in shadow as possible while avoiding the filthy water, but she was used to looking into the dark with the light at her back.

All four were cadaverously thin. The one who had spoken was the least so, but even he couldn't have passed for an ordinary living man. His skin was radiantly white, and his irises were bright scarlet. _Even Dunmeri don't have red irises and the rest pale. _The others were almost skeletal. She could see their prominent ribs under their ragged clothes. As she watched, one put out a gray tongue and licked his lips.

"Getting thirsty down here?" she said.

"Blessed Divines," Esgeriad said in a choked voice. Two of the vampires hissed. The man in the gray tunic cocked his head.

"Foolish," he said. "We are stronger than you, and quicker. These are nearly out of their minds with hunger. I could let them wear you down and paralyze you both where you stand."

"Might work," Varanu said. "Or you could tell me where all your usual victims have disappeared to. I'm seeking something more evil than you are. By this time you must know where he is."

"Perhaps," said the vampire. "Let us test one hypothesis before we move on to the next, hm?" He stepped back further, and Varanu heard the faint hiss of a frenzy spell. All four of the other vampires rushed forward.

Two of them were yanked back so hard they turned to dust when they hit the far wall. Esgeriad must have missed the others. Varanu leveled the sword across her body just in time to have it slammed back into her cuirass as one of the vampires hit her. She hadn't seen him move. Her back hit the wall with a _thud, _and then her head hit and pain lanced through her skull. She was almost deafened by the awful shrieking in her ear as the creature burned up, still trying to get at her throat.

_The other one, where's the other one?_

Varanu shoved the vampire away as it dissolved, lowering the scimitar enough to get the aureole of flame out of her face. She looked around wildly as she swore at the pain. The other vampire had Esgeriad, one arm around him as it held his head sideways with the other. Its lips were clamped firmly onto his throat. _Godsdamn it, Esgeriad. I hope you believe as much as you think you do. _Varanu lowered the scimitar, raised her other hand, and threw the flame at both of them.

Her ears were still ringing from the last scream she'd heard, but what stuck in her mind later was that the last vampire didn't scream. It turned while it was already on fire and started toward her, and she saw the impotent rage in its eyes as the heat consumed it and it turned to dust.

Varanu took a couple of quick steps and threw her one ranged healing spell at Esgeriad, then spun to face the last vampire. He still stood in the same place. Varanu breathed, watching him across the scimitar's burning blade. Tongues of flame crept up her arms, clinging to her armor without burning her. Her head throbbed, slow waves of nausea threatening to unbalance her.

"Well?" she said.

"You won't kill Glorian Entragius," said the vampire. He showed his long teeth. "Not on your own. But you might distract him long enough to be of use to me. I will ensure your safe passage to where he hides."

"When?" Varanu said.

"If you enter these sewers anywhere in this District, I will know," the vampire said. "If you would rather not fall directly into Glorian's lair, I recommend you use this entrance. I would return later, if I were you. You will have to see to your companion if he is to live."

"Yes," Varanu said. She did not move. The vampire showed no apparent inclination to leave. "What's your name?"

"Why does it matter?" said the vampire. "You would kill me were you able."

"It matters to me," Varanu said.

"My name is Magnus," said the vampire.

"Varanu Ashazzarnitashpi," she said. The creature cocked a black eyebrow at the surname, but said nothing more. She watched as he faded back out of sight.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

_No point in waiting, _Varan thought_. If he wants me dead, I'm dead._

She sheathed the scimitar. With her head still pounding, and the intimation of evil prickling up her spine, it was one of the hardest things she had ever done. The flame would not go out, and she could hear the crackle as it wreathed her hair. She felt a faint heat, but that was all.

She turned and knelt beside Esgeriad, pulling off her gauntlets. The Altmer lay on his side, his head flung back. His pale hair lay splayed out like a fan on the slimy stone. It was spotted darkly with red. Except for the blood on his neck, he was completely unmarked. _The Fire of Arkay won't burn him._

Varanu wiped the drying blood away from the spot on his neck. His flesh did not scorch at her touch. There were two ragged scars, but she had been in time; a faint pulse beat under her burning fingers. She let out the breath she'd been holding. Her knees were suddenly weak. _No time for that now._

"Get up, knight of Dibella," she said. "We have to go." He didn't move. "_Esgeriad." _Varanu slid an arm under his other shoulder and levered him into a sitting position. It was harder than it should have been. His head sagged against her arm. "Esgeriad, I can't carry you. You're wearing two hundred pounds of armor. Come on." She shook him once. His pale lashes fluttered, and then he slitted his eyes open.

"Varanu," he said hoarsely. "You're on fire."

She sighed. "Fortunately for you, you've led a sinless life, insofar as any of us can. Get up."

"I'm afraid," Esgeriad said, his voice barely audible, "You will have to leave me here."

"You're going to smell even worse if I have to take all your armor off _before _I drag you up that ladder, you know," Varanu said.

The golden eye narrowed. "You wouldn't dare."

"You don't think so?" Varanu said. She reached for the buckle on his cuirass. His complete lack of resistance was more startling than any gesture could have been; her fingers faltered at the catch.

"I have little magicka," Esgeriad said. "Ten seconds."

"Do it," Varanu said, gathering the shreds of her composure. She seized his gauntlet in one hand. The flames grew higher around her as the charge of mana hit, and then she hoisted him over one shoulder as if he weighed nothing and bounded for the ladder.

Varanu made it out onto the grass in less than ten seconds, but only just. The fortification spell wore off before she put him down, and she collapsed onto her side under the sudden weight of three hundred fifty-odd pounds of elven armor and Altmer. She managed to catch herself on her elbow and avoid hitting her head again. The green grass smoldered briefly, and then Varanu's magicka ran out and the fire died around her.

"Esgeriad," she wheezed. There was no answer. He lay solidly across the middle of her body, pinning her. Varanu reached for the nearest leg and pushed. Nothing happened. Her arms seemed to grow weaker as the pain in her head waxed and waned. "Stupid Altmeri. _Move._"

A scaly hand entered her field of vision, and then a shirtless Argonian seized hold of Esgeriad's ankle and dragged it toward Varanu's feet. She twisted onto her back and resumed shoving, and between the two of them they managed to get the Altmer off her legs and onto his back. Varanu scrambled awkwardly up to his head and checked his pulse again. He was still breathing, but the last of his strength seemed to have gone with the last of his magicka.

"Thank you, serjo," she said, without looking up at the Argonian. She was busy fumbling a welkynd stone out of her belt with shaking fingers.

"This one is no serjo, no," said the Argonian. "This one is only Saliith."

"Saliith?" said a youthful voice, and Varanu glanced sideways in time to see a pretty young mer in worn trousers jog over to stand by the Argonian. _Almsivi. Even moving my eyeballs hurts. _The girl was a head shorter, and her upper body bore varicolored bruises under the scraps of homespun that covered her skinny chest. "Didn't we see them a few minutes ago?"

"I'm sure it was at least a year," Varanu said, and pressed the welkynd stone between her bare palms. Magicka crackled up her arms and down again, and the stone went dark. Varanu tossed it aside and laid a hand on Esgeriad's shoulder. She'd been speaking Cyrodilic, but it was in her mother tongue that she said, _"Please."_

A blue charge shot from her hand into the Altmer. He twitched. "Get up, Esgeriad," Varanu said. "We're alive."

Esgeriad opened his eyes again. "Are you sure?"

Varanu exhaled, not quite a laugh, as she sagged back on her heels. The stone and the god's blessing had let her heal him. Now her magicka was gone again. She felt exhausted in every way, and she was starting to see little colored spots at the corners of her vision. She looked down at her cuirass. _I need to get to a chapel. Soon._

"If not, this one thinks the dead mer is very talkative," said Saliith. "By this time you should know better than to do work for the Order of the Virtuous Blood. Always a fool's errand, and sometimes a suicide."

This time Varanu _did _laugh, as she watched Esgeriad slowly sit up. Something panged sharply behind her breastplate, echoing the pain in her head. "Oh, no, friend Saliith," she said breathlessly. "We did this all on our own. We weren't even looking for vampires."

"Looks like you found some," said the girl. She edged closer to the Argonian. "Your friend's been bitten."

"Oh," Esgeriad said weakly, staring at a clotty strand of his hair. "Blood."

"If you faint, I swear I will hit you," Varanu said. "Don't worry, I've cured him."

"Thank the Lady for small mercies," Esgeriad said. He looked nauseated, but showed no disposition to lose consciousness again. He got easily to his feet and offered Varanu a hand. She looked at him suspiciously. "I think by this time I have earned it," Esgeriad said severely. "Or have I not taken two lives today?"

"Not exactly," Varanu said, but took his hand anyway. He tugged her easily upright. "They were vampires. And _I _had to drag your... Heavy carcass... Up the ladder..." She swayed as she found herself suddenly blind, everything gone completely white, and found herself leaning on a rigid arm. "I can't see - "

She blinked up at the blue sky. She was lying on her back. A moment later she realized that, while her linens were still on, her cuirass was off. She sat up, reached instinctively for her scimitar, and then remembered what had happened.

Varanu looked around. Esgeriad knelt beside her, surrounded by a litter of dead welkynd stones, and the two fighters were gone. "What just happened?" she said. Her headache was gone. She felt gingerly over her lower ribcage, which now seemed intact.

Esgeriad lofted a slim eyebrow. "One of us fainted," he said. "I would like to point out that it was not me." He offered her the cuirass. She took it, but didn't try to put it on. "You really do despise me utterly, don't you?" he said. His voice was soft and deeply bitter. "Not many people will try to refuse my help when they are so weak they cannot stand."

"Vivec's _tears_, Esgeriad," Varanu said. "You've saved my life twice since we met. Maybe more. It's not that at all." She got up slowly. Her wounds were seemingly healed, but she was tired to her bones. Esgeriad rose with her. "It's not that I don't like you. Not any more." _It's not that I don't _want _you, either. _"I can't afford to need anyone's help. You won't be around forever, and then I'll be useless on my own. And that will kill me."

"Are you so certain of that?" Esgeriad said quietly. Varanu stared at him, trying to divine exactly what he meant by that. _He's never broken his vow, or the fire would have hurt him. He may be my true friend, but that's all. Don't hope. Hope will kill you as much as the other thing._

She hesitated just a beat too long, deciding this, and her next words were hurried. "Yes." Varanu turned away toward the nearest gate of the District, away from his pained and disbelieving face. "Look at what happened today. If you hadn't been there, those two you killed might have gotten me – and surely the others would've. I've already grown to depend on you too much." She risked a wry glance as she started toward the gate. "You let me underestimate you."

"There is no beauty in arrogant boasting," Esgeriad said, more normally. "Nor is it my fault your judgment tends to interfere with your… Hm. Judgment."

"Fair enough," Varanu said. "I've never lost anything by assuming the worst."

"Haven't you?" said Esgeriad.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

They stopped at an inn in the Market District. Neither had much to say, and both were tired; Varanu checked them both in (Esgeriad seemed unusually quiet) and they went up toward their separate rooms. She was trying to decide how to say good night, given that it was actually early afternoon, when she reached the head of the stairs. A man in casual traveling leathers stepped out of a room ahead of her, saying something over his shoulder. His hair was cropped short, kinked and streaked with gray, and that combined with something in his bearing set off an alarm even before the sensation of evil presence struck like a dash of cold water in her face.

Varanu drew the scimitar without thinking. Even after the morning's exertions, she withheld the fire only with great difficulty. The Redguard assassin turned slowly. He betrayed no sign of fear or surprise, but Varanu thought the night-black eyes were annoyed. "You," he said flatly. They faced each other across the vacant landing. Varanu felt magicka fizzing up in the room behind the Redguard as well as from behind her. Esgeriad had not said a word.

"I'll assume this is an unfortunate coincidence," the assassin said eventually. "Unless you've been back to see your seer, you couldn't have known we would be here."

"But the same isn't true of _you," _Varanu said. "You knew where Entragian was, and you knew we'd go looking for him."

"I was aware of his probable location," said the Speaker for the Anvil Sanctuary. "But if I'd wished you dead, I could've sent Dra'thani after you at any point between here and Anvil. Do you really believe I would follow you myself, to a public inn?"

"You people are known for that," Varanu said. "Kill anybody, anywhere, any time. And we did kill one of yours."

"Is there any possibility we could discuss this somewhere other than the hallway?"the Redguard said dryly.

"I'm going back down to the taproom," Varanu said. "It's still quiet at this time of day. You can come talk, or you can leave. I don't care which. If you come, bring your mage and no one else. I'll know if you do."

"Understood," said the Redguard. He had not moved, in fact still stood with one hand on the doorknob. His was the utterly indifferent poise of a cold-blooded creature. _Which is probably an insult to Argonians. And snakes._

Varanu backed down the stairs. Behind her, she heard Esgeriad doing the same. She did not sheathe her sword until until she stepped off the last step and into the open area that served as cloakroom, lobby and entryway. She edged into the taproom, looked around to see that the coast was clear. _Clear of Dark Brotherhood, at least. There's no great evil here._

She turned to look up at Esgeriad. He was very pale, but he seemed neither frozen nor shaking. She opened her mouth to tell him he'd done well, then clamped her jaws shut. _I won't let him patronize me. Don't let me do it to him._

"We might as well sit down," Varanu said. She looked around carefully. There was a round table in one corner, away from the door. The barkeep was not in view, but a murmur of instructions and clinking dishes came from the kitchen behind the bar. "Over there. You sit by the wall. I'll need my draw free if it comes to that, though I doubt there'd be that much warning. Not with this man."

"Human," Esgeriad said quietly. "And aging. But the others obey him, even the vampire."

Varanu lifted one shoulder. "What d'you think it takes, for a Redguard to live to that age as an assassin?"

"Uncanny luck, or a frightening level of skill," Esgeriad said promptly. "And not merely with the apparati of murder." He slid in behind the table.

"I agree," Varanu said. "And it's no accident so many of the Emperor's Blades are Redguards, or so I hear. But then, he's got a very small Sanctuary, unless his other ten minions were out doing business when we first saw him. Maybe he's not as good as all that."

"One would like to think so," Esgeriad said, the faintest of humor. Varanu shot him a surprised look. "One does after all grow numb," he said, catching this. "Well. A little."

"Yes," Varanu said. "A little. I'm sorry, Esgeriad."

"I chose," Esgeriad said. He smiled sadly, a ray of light in the dark room. Varanu took her eyes away quickly. Then she felt the fire at the ends of her fingers, and all her attention was on the doorway.

---

Marynd watched the Dunmeri paladin retreat down the stairs. Bloodshot eyes are hard to detect in a race whose eyes are completely red, but her sockets were deeply bruised against her gray skin. _The god's work is to breed fear, but I don't think the fear of Sithis is the cause. Perhaps she's already found what we seek. _Marynd's careful eye had not missed that the woman's cuirass was unbuckled on one side, probably because of the significant dent across the midsection.

He stepped back into the room and shut the door. "Michel," he said. "We will be visiting the taproom." The mage raised his blond eyebrows. He wore ordinary clothes like his Speaker's, but he did not quite seem at ease in them.

"Shall I prepare a poison, Speaker?" he asked.

"No," Marynd said. "Anything made by your hand will have the tincture of Sithis. She'd detect it easily."

"The Altmer killed Moebius," Severn said.

"I haven't forgotten," Marynd said. He turned back and reopened the door. "Come." He could have said more, could have given more explanation or directly said _Do nothing without my order, _but that would imply either that he was concerned with Michel's opinion or that he had any doubts concerning his obedience.

Marynd could not be said to hate the Dunmer and the Altmer any more than he could be said to love his Sanctuary. He had begun life as a man of moderate temperament, and then crushed all expression to the point that he need do little to hide what he was scarcely able to feel. The main difference between Lucien LaChance and himself was that he hadn't totally succeeded.

Even so...

Marynd served a dark god, and the proximity of Arkay's wrath felt like the kiss of acid on his skin. Everything that he loathed, every illogical yielding to weakness and intemperance, was embodied in the aedra. He was not very sorry to lose Moebius, whose end had been a long time coming and considerably less messily inconvenient than Marynd had expected. But he felt keenly the insult to his Sanctuary, whose wounds were already great. The preservation of what remained of his brothers and sisters was a concern far outweighing the lesser emotional distaste or the greater spiritual one of what he was about to do.

He would never say that to Michel Severn, of course. And certainly not to Dra'thani, who was most likely to understand. Marynd showed no signs of these thoughts as he went down the stairs. He watched and listened, though he suspected Severn's life detection was more reliable than his own eyes and ears. He doubted seriously whether the two mer would ambush him, but there was no knowing. It might be hypocritical for servants of the aedra to behave treacherously, but Marynd had known hypocrisy even among the Brotherhood, where what most would consider the worst behavior was either actively encouraged or at least tolerated.

Certainly, what he now contemplated would make some consider him a traitor if they ever knew about it._ Though if I do it as I intend, I will break not one of the Five Tenets. And if I do not displease the god, no one else's opinion matters._

Marynd went into the taproom with the sensation of presence prickling up his spine like fingers of ice. It must have been worse for the Breton, whose senses were differently arranged even at a much younger age than his Speaker's. Marynd heard him catch his breath, and a hiss of dark magicka hastily suppressed. "Speaker?" Severn whispered.

"No," said Marynd coldly. He went forward to the table the two mer had chosen, back in a corner of the room. It was not a bad choice, except that Dra'thani or Nee Ja or both could easily and silently have dropped on them out of the open rafters – and with the premonition of evil so strong already from Marynd and Severn's presence, the addition of two more assassins to the spiritual olio might go unnoticed. Marynd reproached himself internally for dwelling on this beguiling image. _I sent the other two out to scout our target, and I've already made other plans._

"Michel," Marynd said. The Breton sat down across from the Altmer, perhaps twenty degrees away along the table's edge. They looked at each other steadily, blue eyes and gold. The air between them shimmered like a heat wave. Marynd sat down in the fourth seat. He slowly folded his hands on the tabletop in imitation of the Dunmer's posture.

"You're pretty good at hiding your weapons," the Dunmer said.

"I carry one weapon only," Marynd said. Severn glanced at him in apparent surprise, breaking his standoff with the Altmer. The elf blinked rapidly.

"You're the one who wanted to talk," said the Dunmer. "So talk. Just sitting this close makes my fingers itch to burn you."

"I know exactly what you mean," Marynd said. The dagger in his boot seemed to vibrate in its sheath, trying to leap into his hand. The enchantment on the blade was very old, and he'd carried it for many years; it had grown more responsive over time. "As I said, we didn't come to the Imperial City looking for you."

"You think you're good enough not to need more than one weapon," the Dunmer said, as if to herself. One armored finger tapped slowly on the tabletop. "Somebody that good probably doesn't have a reason to lie."

"What happened to your cuirass, Paladin of Arkay?" said Marynd.

"Varanu," she said. "My name is Varanu. You say the word _paladin _like it's obscene." She shrugged an impatient shoulder at her companion's sharp glance. "He can find out, you know. It's not that hard." The narrow crimson eyes returned abruptly to Marynd. "And the cuirass is bent because a vampire hit it earlier today."

"To us, the word _is _obscene," Marynd said. "My name is Marynd." The Dunmer nodded curt acknowledgment. "And if you were attacked by vampires, I assume you were in the sewers. Yes?" Severn shot him a quick look, which Marynd ignored. _Dra'thani and Nee Ja can fend for themselves, and unlike these two, they are capable of stealth._

"That's right," Varanu said. "Looking for the filthy s'wit. Why?"

"Did you find him?" Marynd said.

The Dunmeri woman snorted. "Yes, with his entire army of walking dead. I'm talking to you, aren't I? We didn't get ten feet in."

"What if I were to tell you I'm also looking for Glorian Entragius?" said Marynd.

"Doesn't surprise me," Varanu said. "But if you just want to recruit him, you wouldn't be talking to me about it."

"No," Marynd said. "Entragius must be dead within the sennight."

The Dunmer leaned back slightly. "I'm not sure I believe you."

Marynd raised an eyebrow. "What you believe doesn't concern me, except insofar as you're likely to annoy me in the performance of my duty. You can't kill him yourself. You can't kill all of us. Your noninterference can only serve your ends in this matter."

"You know, you're the second person today to tell me something like that," said Varanu. "The other one was a little more credible than you are."

"I doubt that," Marynd said calmly.

"Remains to be seen. Much as I enjoy the mental picture of all of you being horribly killed by Undead - " She sighed as the Altmer beside her made a protesting noise. "Yes, I know that's not a very pious sentiment, Knight of Dibella. Either way, this is the job I was given. I can't leave it to be done by the likes of you. Besides, why should I believe you'll succeed? Even if you _are _elite assassins, there are only four of you. I have a safe conduct through the sewers. You don't."

"We won't be traveling in heavy armor," said Michel Severn from beside Marynd. "I've yet to meet a paladin who knew the meaning of the word _stealth."_

"Nor do you know the worth of your safe conduct," said Marynd. "Particularly if you received it from a vampire. How do you know you weren't deceived? The vampires of Cyrodiil are known for their skill in Illusion."

"I'm not going to argue the first one," Varanu said. "As for the second..." She stopped and looked at the Altmer. "I'm not so good at discerning those things as my... friend... here." The other knight smiled faintly at the word. "But the vampire I spoke to had less reason to lie than you have. He could've had us easily."

"You believe we can't?" said Michel Severn quietly. Marynd shot him a quelling glance, and he lowered his head. Blue eyes smoldered at the tabletop.

"Be that as it may," Marynd said. "If we're working at cross purposes, the odds are good that we will _all _be killed and the necromancer will remain at large."

"Are they any better if we attempt to work together?" said the Altmer, the first time he had spoken. Unlike the last time Marynd had heard him speak, his voice was level.

"They can't be worse," Marynd said.

"Will you pardon us for a moment?" said the Altmer.

"Remain within view," said Marynd.

"Not to worry," Varanu said. "I don't want you out of _my _sight, either." Severn did not raise his head, but his eyes followed the two mer as they rose and moved to the other side of the taproom. Marynd waited until he was sure the other two were talking before he said calmly,

"I make allowances for your sensitive perception, but you aren't to speak to them again without my permission."

Severn raised his head and looked Marynd in the eye. "Yes, Speaker," he said. "I apologize for my behavior."

"You weren't attached to Moebius," Marynd said. He watched carefully for things like that, since they might affect the stability of his Sanctuary. He didn't care even slightly what gender – or species – his assassins were interested in, but if it was going to affect their duty to their brethren, it was his business.

"No," said Michel. "But these two... reek, Speaker. I look at the woman and it burns my eyes. The other one turns my stomach."

"No wonder my predecessor so seldom sent you out of the Sanctuary," Marynd said. "You will encounter those who serve the aedra constantly. Most will not do it with much sincerity, knowing they are powerless. A few will have achieved something more. But it will not always serve the god's interests to kill them at your whim. Intemperance will damn us as surely as weakness."

"I will control myself," Michel said.

"Yes," said the Speaker.


	18. Chapter 18

_A/N: Just for fun, let's try Esgeriad's point of view for a chapter, shall we? Always tricky doing that with a character whose thoughts you've hidden thus far. Let's see if I can pull it off._

Chapter 18

"What is it?" Varanu said, when they were reasonably out of human hearing. The two assassins seemed to be talking at the table. Esgeriad was relieved to have even that much distance. The evil mage pressed against his awareness like a knife to his throat, painful and impossible to ignore. It had been a long time since he'd experienced anything of the kind, at least before he'd met Varanu Ashazzarnitashpi. There had been justice in what she had said to him in Anvil. There was strict justice in nearly everything she said. He'd been able to avoid most truly evil people because most of them would avoid _him._

And now here he stood, reeling with more exposure to direct evil, to _ugliness,_ than he'd ever seen in his entire life, and he was still on his feet. Just barely. The elven armor helped, propping him up in his boots and lending solidity with its weight. Magicka revolved slowly behind his eyes. On a good day it would fizz like champagne, filling him with goodwill toward everyone he met, letting him see things more clearly. That blessing of the Lady was with him less of late.

"You will not like it," Esgeriad predicted.

"I haven't liked a good ninety percent of the things that've happened in the last – let's see – around ten years, Esgeriad," she said. "Out with it."

_I barely believe what I am about to say, _he thought glumly. "I believe we will have to take them with us," he said.

Varanu raised her eyebrows. There was a scar through the left one, probably from the same stroke that had taken off the end of her ear. _She ducked, _Esgeriad thought, not for the first time. _I wonder if the one who tried to decapitate her had a scimitar like hers? I wonder if that was her farewell from her_ own_ Lady?_

The Dunmer folded her arms. "I know why _I'm _willing to do that," she said. "I'd really like to know why _you _are. The fire of Arkay doesn't even make you sweat. That means you're more virtuous than I am. I'm amazed you can sit across from them and not throw up."

_Not easily, _thought Esgeriad, who controlled his nausea only with considerable effort. He considered that he'd made major gains not to be paralyzed with fear, the way he had been the last time. Varanu seemed not to think so. At least, she hadn't said anything to that effect, and she was not (despite her own efforts) very reticent by nature. "It does not burn you, either," he said.

"I have a dispensation," she snapped. "Quit trying to change the subject."

"Have you, really," Esgeriad said. "Well, then. I believe we've established, based on events earlier today as well as previously, that your own survival is not your strongest motivator."

"It's way up there," Varanu said cautiously.

Esgeriad shrugged. The image of her looming over him, flames licking at the ends of her black hair, stuck firmly in his mind. Even so, it was eclipsed by that final collapse on the grass. _She will utterly spend herself in pursuit of the god's will. For all my pretensions to serve Dibella, would I do as much? _"How important is it that you close the circles this transgressor has opened?"

Varanu said nothing for a moment. Esgeriad, who was very good at reading his fellow beings, knew she was not doubting her purpose, but her ability to express it. He had long been sure she was not a mer of much imagination.

"More important," she said finally, firmly. "More than anything else. Otherwise I would never…" A red glanced flickered at him, and then she averted her eyes. "There are things I've done that I wouldn't do."

"You're too old to learn diplomacy now, Knight of Arkay," Esgeriad said slyly. With someone else he might have assayed a finger under the chin, but Varanu's body language – feet shoulder width apart, arms folded tightly - generally said she didn't want to be touched. Now was not the exception. Had she known, she would probably have been equally offended by his conscious (and therefore patronizing) decision not to patronize her, but that was a contest no one could win. The way she was now avoiding his eyes, as she always did when he tried to smile at her, only confirmed this.

Esgeriad let the smile fade. "If we do not go with these..."

He struggled for an appropriate word. He had not sworn since he was twelve or thirteen, and nothing else seemed adequate. "..._People_, we will never..." _Kill. She is going to kill him, or die in the attempt. "..._Defeat Glorian Entragius. Is it not so?"

"It's so," she sighed. "I was just hoping you'd have thought of something else." Varanu showed him a brief and humorless smile, a flash of teeth against her gray skin. "And I console myself with the fact that I'm still younger than _you, _Knight of Dibella." She turned and stalked back toward the table. She paused halfway and tossed back over her shoulder, "And you never _did _answer my question."

Esgeriad sighed slightly and followed her back to the table. _If I should tell you why I will follow you into death, into Oblivion, and worse, back into a sewer, you would not believe me. _Not someone as thick-skinned and cynical as the Dunmeri was. _How shall I explain what I myself am at a loss to understand? _And if she _did _believe him, it would only create further problems. _She is already in the unfortunate position of being physically attracted to a person she still, for the most part, disdains. She would be horribly embarrassed to know I realize that. It would be even worse to burden her with the kind of affection she cannot return. The fact that I am bound by my vow seems almost beside the point._

_Perhaps Dibella _is _punishing me for my sins._

And then he stepped within some invisible radius, and the ambient stench of evil became too powerful to even pretend to ignore. He resumed his seat behind the table carefully, watching the other two through half-closed eyes. He did not make eye contact with the other mage. The last attempt at that had resulted in a contest of shields he did not wish to repeat.

Neither betrayed any physical sign of intent to attack. The trouble was that Esgeriad was slightly in doubt of his ability to predict that where the Redguard was concerned. He was unnervingly inert, for a human. _And I am not at my most perceptive._

"Fine," Varanu said abruptly. "I'm going back down tomorrow morning. Meet us here at sunrise and I'll take you to where Magnus was going to meet me."

"There will be four of us," said Marynd, as if this surprised him not at all. "We two, and a Khajiit and an Argonian."

"A Khajiiti _vampire,"_ Varanu said. "Won't that be lovely." She lowered her voice and folded her arms as she went on. "And don't even _think _about trying anything tonight."

"If I wanted you dead, this isn't the place I would choose," Marynd said blandly. "Or rather let us say, if I intended to kill you."

Varanu showed him the same grim smile she'd shown Esgeriad. "Understood." She turned on her heel and stalked away. Esgeriad disciplined himself sharply not to run after her. Instead, he nodded politely to the two assassins before he turned away. The Redguard, to his surprise, nodded back. He felt evil eyes on his back as he made a dignified retreat from the taproom.

"Esgeriad," Varanu said as they went up the stairs. He looked up at her back, watching her head swivel suspiciously to and fro at the landing. He was generally in favor of strict order when it came to his appearance, but her hair really was quite fetching in its disheveled state. He'd chosen well when he cut it, as he always did when he acted in Dibella's name. That harmony, at least, would go with him to the grave.

"Yes," he said now.

"We have one room," she said.

"A fact which has not escaped my notice, Knight of Arkay. I will wait outside while you wash and change your clothing, if you wish. It would be my privilege to wash your hair for you," he said wistfully.

"No, thanks," Varanu said. She hesitated on the top step, casting a glance over her shoulder. "Well… All right. But only because we're probably going to die tomorrow."

"Not because you know I will do it well?" Esgeriad said. Varanu raised an eyebrow as she turned away again. He might have imagined that her shoulders moved as if to sigh.

"There was never any question of that," said Varanu.

He waited patiently outside the door, trying not to think about the fact that there was blood in his hair. Blood. In his hair. Blood in _his_… Esgeriad leaned against the wall, reminding himself sternly that fainting was not acceptable behavior in the company of a Knight of Arkay. He breathed deeply and tried to think about beautiful things.

He supposed, given the way things generally worked in the company of Arkay's knight, that it wasn't at all surprising that the door opened just then. Varanu stood in the doorway, clad in a worn and stained linen shirt and trousers. She cocked her head at him. "You all right?"

"No," Esgeriad said. "But I will be." _On the day I see the Lady's face. I doubt it will be any sooner. _He stiffened his spine and followed her back into the room.


	19. Chapter 19

_Direct aedric intervention is very rare in the Elder Scrolls, with the aedra mostly acting through human/merish servants. I'm going to suppose mediumistic interactions with mortals are somewhat less so._

Chapter 19

Varanu sat on the edge of the mattress, leaning over a basin on the dresser between the two beds. She watched idly as the color of the water dripping from her hair changed – rusty with dried blood, ashy with dust, and at last something approximating clear. Esgeriad hummed softly as his gentle hands rubbed at her scalp. It seemed odd, now, that she'd ever doubted the safety of letting him stand behind her with scissors. (Had it really been less than a month?) She doubted he would even be able to do something so justifiably violent as knocking her in the head for her own good – it had taken a direct threat of death for him to do anything to defend either of them. She still doubted that he would have done it if he'd been alone.

_Am I guilty of his corruption? _she wondered, not for the first time. _He seems to think so, though he's trying to clear me in his own mind. It's a nasty little problem. Killing is ugly. And I've made him do it. Loyalty is necessary to him, and I've made one thing depend on the other. He can't be loyal and not kill._

_But the Fire of Arkay won't burn him. He's still clean,_ she told herself, clinging tightly to that hope of absolution.

"Varanu," Esgeriad said reproachfully, and poked with a damp finger at her tightening neck muscles. She relaxed with an effort, letting a tired chuckle escape.

"Arrogant fetcher," she said.

"Do try to hold still," he said with exaggerated superciliousness, and enveloped her head in a woolen towel. She waited blindly while he finished this, then emerged blinking into the dim room. "Thanks."

"The pleasure is all mine," Esgeriad said politely, drying his hands. With blood in his pale hair and on his neck, smudges of soot on his golden skin, he looked like an unaccountably fallen angel. Varanu averted her eyes to try and banish the ache this caused her.

"I'll go down to the taproom to work on my armor," she said, reaching for the pile of battered ebony on the floor.

"Oh, not on my account," he said at once. "I will not be, ahem, fully unclothed. And I think it is better we are not separated while we stay here."

_Oh, hells. _"Good point," Varanu said. She did not insult him by asking if he needed help. When it came to restoring his appearance, there was nothing she could do better than Dibella's knight could. _Thank the gods. _"Is there enough clean water left for that?"

Esgeriad surveyed the three buckets of water they'd ordered. Varanu had only used one sponging herself off, but he'd used a good half of the second cleaning her hair. _And he has a _lot _more hair than I do. And it's dirtier. _"I'm sure I shall make do," he said firmly. Varanu shrugged and went to set the dirty water outside the door. When she turned back, Esgeriad was on his knees in front of the open window, head bowed. She couldn't hear the words he was saying, and the bright sun hurt her eyes. She went to sit on the edge of her bed and dug out an armorer's hammer and a clean rag. Then she got out her scimitar and set to work cleaning it. She'd wiped it on the grass – or someone had; she didn't remember doing that – but the not-quite-white ebony surface was still grimy. She rubbed it carefully. _The armor, the unguent and my life belong to Arkay. This is mine. _

Esgeriad continued his silent prayer for a long five minutes. Then he got up and began to remove his armor. Varanu kept her eyes firmly on her work.

Even this, some of the hardest material available in Morrowind, was nicked and scratched. _Though a good third of those I got before I ever left Mournhold. _That memory was still bitter, but it was old now. _More than ten years. Almsivi, but that's a long time. And I've put it to better use than serving a tyrant since then. _She smiled lopsidedly at more recent memory. _Even if Arkay proved as faithless as _She _was, I've done nothing in his name that I'd be sorry for. And if I do die tomorrow, I have no doubt I will face my grandfather without shame._

She risked a glance at Esgeriad. He knelt in his linen shirt and trousers, which had probably been white at one time in the recent past. Now they were sweat-damp and spotted with blood. The Altmer had one hand in each bucket. She heard him whisper something even merish hearing couldn't make out, and then white light rose from each bucket and expanded around him. Glitters clung to his cream-colored shirt and his pale hair. Varanu felt the hairs on her spine rise as the expanding wave of magicka hit, soft as a kiss. A faint whiff of perfume reached her nostrils.

Varanu set aside the scimitar as she reached for her cuirass and the hammer, for something solid and emphatically terrestrial. Esgeriad raised one bucket solemnly and upended it over his head. The glittering stuff that cascaded down over him certainly wasn't water. It didn't splash, it clung, outlining his entire upper body in liquid light. Wherever it came into contact with dirt or stain there was a fizzing sound, like soda in vinegar, and the unclean thing vanished as if it had never been. The linens went from dull cream to pure, shining white.

He reached for the second bucket and stood up again. Varanu bent over her work with a silent curse, certain she had been staring. _I have the fire of Arkay. And he has this. I wonder what would have happened, if he'd poured that over me? The fire of Arkay will burn the unworthy. _What might Dibella's blessing for her knight do to the unfaithful and the ugly? _And the fact that somebody as generous as Esgeriad didn't make the offer means he thinks I'm one or both of those. Gods _damn _that mer._

---

Esgeriad breathed deeply as the last of the fragrance dissipated, leaving him fully clean. He'd left a tiny amount of the blessed water in the first bucket so that he could polish his armor, but it wouldn't take very much. _Dibella's kiss is no weaker than it ever was. That is worth much. _"Blessed be the Lady," he murmured, very quietly so as not to distract the Knight of Arkay. She seemed very busy at her work on the black-and-gold cuirass, forcing dents out of it with tiny _pings _of abused metal. A frown of concentration pulled at the scar through her eyebrow, corded muscle binding and loosening across her shoulders under her thin linen shift. Her right shoulder was a little higher than the left one, consequence of favoring that side when swinging her scimitar. _And ebony is very heavy, even for a taller mer._

He'd thought of offering to share the blessing with her, but in the end he'd decided the gesture would not be appreciated. _She is already convinced that I think she is inadequate in her grooming. I would not for the world confirm such a misapprehension in any friend of mine. It would be a sin. _Never mind that their initial acquaintance had hinged on his conviction of exactly that. He was a changed mer now. For all the good it was going to do him.

He sat down on the bed and began to clean his armor with a cloth and the rest of the water. He smiled to see the hated stains of blood vanish at the Lady's touch, leaving behind the mirror polish of the golden metal. Almost thirty years he'd had that armor, and it was as good as it had been on the day he bought it. _And better shined, _he added primly.

Then Esgeriad glanced up at Varanu, and his conscience smote him. Her armor was battered and dull, its finish permanently scratched from years of hard service to a hard god. _From saving the lives of the innocent from the designs of evil men. _He had, he thought bitterly, been happy before he met her. _But should I have been? _He'd latched onto her, back at the beginning of all this (had it really been less than a month?), with no intention beyond adding some loveliness to what appeared to be a singularly unattractive life. That was what he did, wasn't it?

_It is even so. But there is more to it than that, one fears. _He'd looked at her as she staggered up from the floor that day in the Chapel, filthy and ill, and seen the germ of a stern and terrible beauty, a symmetry of whipcord and bone. It had repulsed and fascinated him, and he gave into the latter emotion first. He'd told himself he could change her. That wasn't quite how it had happened -

He was almost grateful when a sudden sound, a soft rattle, interrupted his train of thought. He looked up to see Varanu pressed against the wall by the window, scimitar in hand. "What was that?" he said.

"Somebody threw a rock at the casement," Varanu said. "Don't get up."

"Certainly not," Esgeriad said mildly. His mana had recovered enough to cast the life detection spell he used most. He drew up the magicka silently and spread the net around him. Walls were no obstacle. Quite clearly he could see the four people in the assassins' room across the hall, having a wash themselves or talking. There were people bustling about the kitchen area downstairs, forms thin as ghosts behind the purple cloud-form the spell gave them. And down below the window, outside on the ground...

"What do you see?" Varanu said impatiently.

"There's a girl below the window," Esgeriad said. "I believe she is Bosmeri." The ears, not quite as pointed as an Altmer's and longer than a Dunmer's, were very characteristic. "And I do not believe she is one of the Brotherhood. There are four of them across the hall."

"Who's the fourth one?" Varanu said.

"An Argonian," he said. There was a thoughtful silence as it registered on both of them that the Redguard Marynd had apparently told them the truth.

"_He's_ too clever to try something this obvious," Varanu said, and then opened the window and cautiously stuck her head out. "What do you want?"

"Sorry," said a small voice. "Is there an Altmeri in there? He's very tall and his hair is long? I think he has gold armor. I'm not sure."

"Why?" Varanu said, voice taut with suspicion. Esgeriad hurriedly buckled on his cuirass and ran a finger across the job he'd done on his greaves. It was flawless.

"I'm sorry," the voice apologized again. She sounded near tears, and very young. "I saw him in Arkay's chapel in Bruma, do you remember me? I think you were there. And then I had a dream, and I went to Anvil and I had _another _dream, and I, I'm not even sure how I got here. I've come a long way, Milady. Please, isn't he there?"

"Yes, my child," Esgeriad said, going quickly to the window. Varanu shot him a look which he pretended not to see. He leaned out over the sill, brushing his hair back over one shoulder, and looked down at the girl. She looked up out of large green eyes, clearly trying not to cry. She was wearing a clean white robe, and her hair was braided elaborately down her back. _If she did come a long way, she did not do it on horseback. _"Will you not come up? We're in the second room on the left."

"Oh, thank you," breathed the Bosmer, and turned and ran around toward the front of the inn. Esgeriad retracted his head and shoulders, and Varanu shut the window.

"It's the same girl," Varanu said. "I remember her."

"I smiled at her," Esgeriad said. "And you laughed."

"That's the one," Varanu said. "Looked like she'd run into a brick wall. But then, you're used to that, aren't you?" She grinned briefly and went to hurriedly don her own armor. "Not too many men would have somebody coming halfway across the continent to find them. Don't worry, I promise not to make her cry."

Esgeriad sniffed and went to open the door as he heard running footsteps approaching. The spell was fading, but he could still easily make out the girl's outline before she reached the threshold. "Do come in," he said, and stepped back to admit her. She edged past him uneasily, blushing. "We remember you, my dear," Esgeriad said. "You really _have _come a long way, haven't you? Please, sit down." The room was too small and bare for chairs. He went and smoothed the cover of his bed for her instead. She sat gratefully, taking a deep breath. "I'm Esgeriad, and that is Varanu. What is your name?"

"I'm Cariel, and I'm _so_ sorry," she said. "I never thought anything like this would happen. I wanted to be a priestess of Arkay, but then I saw you, and..." She glanced at him sideways. "You were so handsome and I went and asked Brother Varen where you were from and he said you were Dibella's knight," she said in a rush. "And I asked for permission to join Dibella's Chapel instead and the Prior said I could. He gave me an escort all the way to Anvil. He said it was fate."

"He would," Varanu said under her breath.

"And what happened to you in Anvil, Cariel?" Esgeriad said gently. He sensed no evil from her. Clean beauty radiated from her as from a blossom in the spring.

"I wish I knew," said the girl. She twisted her hands together. "I mean, I joined the Chapel there and they said I was very pretty and I could stay - "

"Indeed you are," Esgeriad said. Cariel blushed furiously.

"- And I was praying in front of the Lady's altar, asking what I should do. You know, from now on. And I heard a voice."

"And what did Dibella say to you?" Esgeriad asked. Cariel looked at him closely, making sure he wasn't mocking her, before she answered him.

"She said she needed me to find her knight and give him a message," she said. "And then there was this, this pink cloud and I was here in the City. Right under your window. So I threw a rock." Somewhat incongruously, she shot a quick look at Varanu before she looked back at Esgeriad. "She, um... This is so embarrassing..."

"Don't mind me," Varanu said with gruesome cheer, and sat down on the edge of the other bed, arms folded. She watched with every indication of complete enjoyment. Esgeriad pretended not to see her.

"Just ignore the Knight of Arkay," he said. "She is very trustworthy."

"She said you wouldn't listen when _she _tried to tell you because you don't want to hear it," the Bosmer said miserably. "She said she's been trying for a while."

"I see," Esgeriad said. He wasn't really surprised. He'd been expecting some sort of message for a while now, he just hadn't expected to live long enough to hear it. Dread roiled in the pit of his stomach, but he maintained an outward calm. "Varanu, would you be willing to risk the hallway for a few minutes?"

"Are you sure you don't need me to protect you?" Varanu said. Cariel giggled nervously. Esgeriad looked down his nose at the Knight of Arkay. She grinned broadly back. "Well, I guess if she tries to ravish you, you can always scream. I'll be outside." He waited until the door was firmly closed, then cast the life detection spell again. The assassins were still inside their room. He heard Cariel stand up, but didn't pay it very much mind until he turned around again and found himself confronted with blinding light.

Esgeriad threw up a hand to protect his face, but he still felt no evil. To the contrary. The room was suddenly filled with the scent of lilies, the air thick with holiness. He slid off the edge of the bed and onto his knees.

"I speak with Dibella's voice," said Cariel, and all the childesh nervousness was gone. A sweet undertone, soft as velvet and old as time, lent a richness to her voice that was not properly hers. "Look at me, Knight."

Esgeriad raised his head slowly as the light faded. The Bosmer still stood there, but her outline seemed indistinct, blurred by more than his spell of life detection. Indeed, the color purple flared out in every direction, a life so massive that mana could not encompass it. "Speak, my Lady," he whispered.

Cariel raised a hand as if in benediction. Then she slapped him across the face. It was not hard enough to sting physically, but he lowered his eyes at once, suffused with shame.

"Esgeriad, you have done wrong," said the sweet voice of the aedra.

"Yes," he said, almost choking on the word.

"You have committed a sin against beauty and against love," she went on.

"Yes." _I've taken life. Not even friendship in the Lady's name can justify an act so ugly._

"You have taken a vow for the wrong reason and pursued it to the wrong end for lo, these twenty-five years."

"Yes – what?" Esgeriad blinked in confusion. "My _vow _is the cause of my sin?"

"You were injured in love," Dibella said through Cariel's lips. "It was for this reason that you swore you would never embrace another with your whole body and your whole heart. You sought friendship at the cost of love because you were afraid to suffer further. You have been a coward. And though you heard my voice on every commission on which I sent you, even this most difficult one, you would not hear me when I tried to tell you so."

He would have been utterly stunned by such a statement at the time he took his vow. At the time, he'd been fully convinced he was doing it after full consideration of all circumstances, that his judgment was secure and his sacrifice was worthy. As he'd grown older, he had come to terms with his own reasons – had known that while he did wish to spare others from pain, he wished to spare himself more. He'd hoped, he'd prayed, that all the good he did and all the hearts he spared would win him the Lady's favor.

He'd thought, in his arrogance, that it had worked.

"What must I do, Lady?" he asked.

"I refuse your vow," said the aedra simply. "Follow on the path I have set you."

Esgeriad raised his head in protest. "How can I do this thing? To speak to _her _now, on the eve of battle – how shall I so burden her?"

"You will know when the time is right," said Dibella. "I will make all things clear. Walk in beauty, Esgeriad." Before he could protest further, the light died down. He caught Cariel as she slumped forward. He lifted her carefully as he stood up, and then he heard the door open.

"What's going on?" Varanu said. She looked quickly around the room, nostrils flaring at the fading scent of lilies. "What happened?"

"A visitation," Esgeriad said. He went and deposited the young Bosmer carefully on his narrow bed. She breathed calmly, sleeping the sleep of the innocent and exhausted. "My vow is – I - I would rather not discuss it. Please, pardon me." He could not keep the edge of genuine distress from his voice. Arkay's Knight, surely a veteran of many distressful circumstances, recognized it at once. She shut the door and came to stand beside him.

"All right," she said. "What should we do for her?"

"I don't believe we will need to do anything," Esgeriad said, on more familiar ground. "Dibella brought her here. Dibella must take her away."

"Brought her into a den of assassins, no less," Varanu said, shaking her head. "I hope you're right. I would hate to leave her here tomorrow, and we sure as Oblivion can't take her with us." As she spoke, a faint mist of luminous pink rose up around the bed. The light spiralled inward and pounced, and then it cleared away. The bed was empty. Only the coverlet, pulled into the shape of a reclining body, betrayed that anyone had ever been there. Esgeriad reached automatically to straighten it, flexing his shoulders under a new weight.

_I took my vow for selfish reasons, _he thought. _Now, released from it, I must do the only selfless thing that remains to me. I will stand by my friend. _Bitterness had gone, and purpose had taken its place, a crystalline and agonizing clarity. Esgeriad, who at fifty had not had to deal with the specter of advancing mortality in the way a human would, found the sensation distressingly unfamiliar_. I will do what I can before the end. There is no more._


	20. Chapter 20

_A/N: Oblivion canon is inconsistent, especially between written documentation and gameplay, regarding if and how vampires can endure sunlight._

Chapter 20

"Give your report," Marynd had said earlier that evening.

"We could not visually confirm the presence of Glorian Entragius, Speaker," Nee Ja said, when Dra'thani did not seem about to begin. The vampire was irritably dabbing water through the fur on her head, trying to get the clinging ashes out. Nee Ja had already finished washing herself as best she could and was fully clothed again. "The outer areas of the sewers under the Arena are densely occupied with vampires, and closer in there are many undead. Not all are zombies."

"We ostensibly have a safe conduct through the vampires," Marynd said. "If it proves worthless, how much delay can we expect?"

"None whatsoever," Dra'thani said, waving a clawed hand airily. This flung drops of water onto Michel Severn, who was sitting on one of the two beds and listening. He shot her a look, but said nothing. "This one knows how to deal with starveling sewer rats, yes. She suspects some of the other revenants may prove an annoyance."

Marynd, familiar with the kind of things Dra'thani generally classified as annoyances, quashed the urge to finger his dagger. His Sanctuary would not know he did not expect any of them – including himself – to survive the next day. That was a Speaker's burden to bear, and he would bear it. "Explain," he said.

Marynd listened as the two assassins continued, alternating as each one filled in gaps in the other's experience. _This will be fully as difficult as I suspected._

"You've done well," he said, when they had finished. "This is what we will do."

---

Varanu spent a restless night, trying to lie still so as not to disturb Esgeriad. He was utterly inert on his side of the room, lying with his back to her and his golden hair spread over the pillow behind him in the thin slats of moonlight from the window. Both of them slept in their armor without discussion. Varanu lay on her side with the sheathed scimitar between her and the edge of the bed, dozing uneasily as she listened for sounds from across the hall. Morning seemed to come with agonizing slowness.

The Knight of Dibella never moved, either untroubled by doubt or exhausted by whatever visitation he had seen. From the stricken face he'd shown her earlier, she judged he had not met entirely with his aedra's favor. _And he's still trying not to make it my fault even though it obviously _is _my fault. Hells and blood._

The rising sun at last slid in between the wooden shutters on the casement. It struck Varanu's eyes as she was running through a nightmare, hacking down ghosts only to have them rise again before she could perform the Rite over them. She sat up gratefully, snatching up the scimitar. "Get up, Dibella's Knight. It's time to go."

Esgeriad rose smoothly and without a word. He ran his fingers once through his perfect hair and left it at that. Varanu went to the door to find a bucket of fresh water had been left for them, and they washed their faces and hands silently. She performed the Last Unction for both of them again before they went out into the hall. The door to the assassins' room was shut.

"One'll get you ten they're already downstairs," Varanu said. Esgeriad did not answer, so she turned and stalked down to the taproom ahead of him. She knew they were there before she ever entered the room. _The evil is more obvious with four of them. _The assassins sat at the table against the far wall. They could have merely been an oddly-assorted group of adventurers, except that they tended to sit a little too still. Varanu knew which was the Khajiiti vampire at once. She was wearing a full hood and gloves, but the unique not-quite-rightness of undeath hung about her like a cloud. The Argonian was tall and very slim, scales trending toward a darker red, but there was nothing really unusual about her.

The four assassins all stood up as if on a signal. "We're ready," said Marynd.

"Can she go out in daylight?" Varanu said, jerking her head at the vampire.

"Oh, yes," said the creature's rough voice from under her hood.

"How?" Varanu said bluntly.

"This one does not share her methods with prey. The paladin will please walk very quickly."

"Not to worry," Varanu said. "I won't spend any more time in your company than I have to."

"There's something you will need to know," Marynd said. "Entragius' forces are numerous, but their composition is... Unusual. Apparently he's been able to resurrect bodies with somewhat more independent intelligence, though they are still entirely slaves to his will. It's my strong recommendation that you destroy them first whenever you encounter them."

"Thanks for the warning," Varanu said. "We'll bear it in mind."

It was a short walk to the manhole in the Arena district, but it seemed long. Among other things, the three lower-ranked assassins vanished the instant they were out the door, so Varanu was constantly glancing around to try to figure out where they were. Marynd walked quietly beside her, ordinary in his leather clothes. Now that she was looking, she supposed there might be a dagger in his boot.

"They are still with us, Knight of Arkay," Esgeriad said.

"And will continue so," Marynd said. "We don't make ourselves conspicuous."

"No, I can see where you wouldn't," Varanu said. "Being a killer-by-stealth by trade."

"Indeed," Marynd said calmly.

She glimpsed the mage a couple of times when they were in the Arena district. She was never quite sure where the Khajiit and the Argonian were until they reached the manhole, and then she saw the wavering distortions in the air and realized they were not merely stealthy, but very literally invisible.

Branwen and Saliith were sparring on the pavement again. They paused to watch, grateful for the breather, as Varanu bent to lift the manhole cover.

"Ah, the knight returns with reinforcements. This one thinks you are foolish, but your persistence is admirable," said Saliith.

"Thanks," Varanu said. "Make sure nobody comes down here, will you? You'll probably hear some noises."

"We'll try," said Branwen, and then Varanu turned and saw the flicker of the two invisible assassins moving quickly down the ladder. A moment later the Argonian's voice said, "Come."

Varanu went next, then Esgeriad. Marynd and the mage came down after them. She drew her scimitar slowly. To let the fire go was a tremendous relief, though she kept its light low to avoid blinding herself. By its flickering red light she saw the tall, thin figure of Magnus standing across the sewer channel. The pale Imperial cocked his head. "You have brought others," he said. "Very strange company, for a Closer of Circles."

"I want Entragius," Varanu said. "So do they. That's all we have in common."

"So I gather," said the vampire dryly. His head turned, following something Varanu couldn't see. "These two were here yesterday. I lost an inconvenient number of minions."

"This is the price of testing its limits, yes," said the Khajiit's voice. "Sooner or later it will find them. Would this scrawny prey rather see the necromancer inconvenienced, or dead?"

He had no tail to switch, but Varanu had no trouble imagining one as Magnus narrowed his red eyes. For a long moment, he stared at the patch of darkness that was the Khajiit.

"Follow me," he said at last. He turned and moved off into the darkness. His clothes had probably been formal blacks, once. Now they were worn to dark gray, ragged at the cuffs of shirt and trousers. He wore shoes, but glimpses of white flesh were visible through the frayed fabric here and there. It didn't seem to matter to him. Magnus moved with the leisurely stalk of a king pacing his courtyard.

Varanu found a little stone bridge and followed it across the sewer channel. She didn't bother to watch Marynd behind her. _Esgeriad can do that better than I can, even if he doesn't see as well in the dark. Besides, you can't trust someone by half-measures._

She had a fairly good sense of direction, even in the dark, but she eventually did lose track of where they were in the winding series of passages through which the vampire led them. Evil pressed in around her, thicker than air or the ubiquitous stench of sewage: the ordinary thirsty evil of the vampires, and something much hungrier.

"Greater thirst than yours is here," Esgeriad said unexpectedly, from behind Varanu. She heard his tramping feet in his heavy elven boots, and took some comfort from it.

"I wondered if you would notice," Magnus said. He kept walking forward, speaking without turning his head. "But it is not blood which Glorian Entragius desires."

"Life," Varanu said. "Close enough."

"It is possible to take blood and not kill," Magnus said. "Else I would be entirely powerless and alone in this place. Yet my children are all around you."

"I noticed," Varanu said shortly. The occasional glowing eye watched them from down a side passage, and every so often she caught a white flash of teeth.

"This one is not impressed," said the voice of the Khajiit. "This one does not go about bestowing the Gift on everyone she meets, but if she did she would not let her _children _become crazed and starving, no." Magnus's head whipped around, and Varanu heard a faint and very un-Imperial hiss.

"Dra'thani," said Marynd's flat voice from behind her.

"Oh, very well," sniffed the Khajiit, and was silent from them on.

Eventually, the winding stone halls opened out into another primary drain, a broad and shallow canal of stone. This one was knee-high with fast water, and Varanu was glad to stay on the walkway. Moss and fungi grew here and there, in the places where the most light was or was not, respectively. Magnus brought them to a broad, dry culvert with a rusty gate of iron bars across the opening. A broken lock hung from one side. Big boards, cannibalized from who-knew-where, formed a rough barricade in front of the gate. Varanu frowned and raised her scimitar to light them as she looked closely. They were nailed into the stone walls.

"I see why Entragius hasn't got past you yet," she said. Magnus, now quite close, turned a crimson eye on her in defiance of the burning sword. It was a very strange look in an Imperial, but for all his thinness and strangeness he was not ugly.

"He will," said the vampire. "Even as we keep him penned, his forces grow. He can send them aboveground in daylight. There we cannot go." With magnificent disdain, he ignored Dra'thani's derisive snort. "Your safe conduct ends here."

"What about on the way out?" Varanu said.

"If you survive long enough, you can easily reach the surface from within Glorian's domain," Magnus said. He reached up with a bony arm and laid hold of the topmost board. One pull, and the wood splintered around the nails. He tossed the broken pieces aside and made equally short work of the rest. The rusty gate swung open unbidden, glinting with slime in the light from the scimitar. "Go. Sell your lives dearly, and I am well repaid."

Varanu looked at him, royal in his rags, and felt a pang of sympathy even in the face of the thirst that clung around him like a cloud. _He didn't choose to become what he is. He's not as bad as Marynd's killers. _"You'll be king here again, Magnus," she said. "I wish you joy of it."

The red eyes flickered to hers and away again. She'd managed to surprise him. "Farewell, Knight of Arkay," he said, and faded off into the reeking shadows. Varanu turned and stepped into the culvert.

"Esgeriad," she said.

"We're surrounded," he said tightly. "They must be in every corridor adjacent."

"Marynd, you'd better keep your people well free of us," Varanu said, and loosed some of her restraint. The scimitar flared up with a crackle. "I can't hold the fire down on account of you."

"Don't concern yourself with us, paladin" Marynd said. His voice was still flat, but there was a faint, derisive intonation on the last word.

The culvert narrowed as they went, but Varanu saw a faint glow ahead, an open shaft in a larger chamber. She was certain she saw something move against the light. "Arkay defend us," she whispered, and raised the scimitar to the guard as she went forward. Two conflicting magics rose at her back, Esgeriad and the Breton assassin preparing their respective shields, and then she heard the Altmer say,

"I am behind you, Knight of Arkay." A heavy gauntlet touched her shoulder, and she felt a faint shock as the net of force spread over her skin.

"Thank you, Knight of Dibella," she said. Then she was at the opening, looking out at what was beyond.


	21. Chapter 21

_A/N: The idea that zombies can be killed by decapitation belongs to the George Romero canon of cinema. It is not part of the Elder Scrolls universe, and the reader may recall that many ruins in the game Oblivion contain animate headless zombies. _

Chapter 21

Varanu stood to one side of the doorway, merging her silhouette with the stone lintels, and looked around quickly. Something invisible brushed past her, but she ignored that. She now stood on the rim of another sewer channel parallel to the one they had followed to the culvert. This one was no more than a thin trickle in the bottom of the shallow canal built to hold it. A broad shaft of light fell from a grating overhead. Six people stood on the other side of the channel, all in various stages of ragged undress. Two were Imperial. One was an Argonian, and one had probably been an Orc, judging by the peeling flesh hanging from one lone tusk above its missing lower jaw. The other two were too far gone to tell: earless, eyeless, with suppurating flesh hanging from grayed muscle and bone. They stank worse than the channel of sewage, reeking with the sweet sick ordure of rotting flesh and radiating the evil will that animated them.

The Argonian turned toward her first, rolling a cloudy eye. Its nostrils flared. Then it made a sound. Varanu had heard Argonians hiss before, to indicate anger or derision, but this wasn't like that. The noise was static, breathless; it went on and on. The five others turned almost in unison. One of the Imperials, the only one of the six with intact eyelids, opened a mouthful of black teeth and moaned. Hairs along Varanu's spine rose in sympathy with the note of animal pain.

"Where is he?" she said, not so much because she expected an answer as because she felt the need to hear a living voice. A chorus of rising moans answered her as the undead stepped blindly from the edge of the channel. The two worst-decayed fell, scrabbling futilely in the sewage, but Varanu had no time to dwell on the horror in the sound of weak bones snapping. The other three were at the near edge and reaching for her ankles. Fire flowed from her hands and down the length of the scimitar, and then she decapitated two of them at one blow. The third caught and burned, wailing as it shriveled into nothing. The dying howl reverberated against the tunnel walls. It echoed off into the distance.

Not far off, something howled back.

Varanu stepped down into the canal, ignoring the unwholesome splash, and dealt with the two remaining undead. She paid no mind to the flames playing about her ankles. Ordinary fire would have ignited the noxious gases in the air the first time she lit up the sword. Those gases were a significant part of the reason for air vents like the one above her head.

She heard Esgeriad step down behind her. He made a small sound that still managed to eloquently convey his distaste. Varanu grinned briefly. "You can polish your boots again later. The assassins still here?"

"Two to each side of the channel," he said. "Their invisibility is harder to penetrate in an atmosphere of such evil."

"For you," said a tenor voice, which Varanu took to be the Breton mage.

"We don't have time for this," Varanu said. She turned toward the sound of marching feet. _Lots of them. _Prior experience had taught her to expect the additional dull scrape of an occasional foot with a broken ankle. _Hopefully more of them will be hobbled from stepping off things down here. They never watch their footing._

The long shadows reached around the bend in the tunnel to her right, but she did not turn that way. They would be coming from the other way, too. _Even ordinary zombies will pull that one. _Besides, their careful approach might be inaudible to half-rotten and mostly-human ears, but Dunmeri hearing caught it just fine.

"I am here," Esgeriad said, for her ears only, and then she felt his pauldrons click against hers as they stood back to back. He always seemed so tall that she forgot he was only a couple of inches over her own height.

"Taking their heads off will kill them, sometimes," Varanu said. "If the animus is strong enough, even that won't do it. I wouldn't plan on it with these."

"Then what shall I do?" Esgeriad said. His voice held an utterly unnatural calm. "I have no knowledge of the School of Destruction."

"Just keep them off," Varanu said. "If you can hold them back enough to stop us being flattened, I'll take care of the rest."

"As you will, Knight of Arkay," he said, and then the first of the walking dead shambled into view. And the next. And the next. Some were rotted into stumbling anonymity, one or two were even staggering along completely headless, but the great majority were whole enough to be distinguishable by race and sex. Most were men and mer, but occasional beast-folk were among them.

Varanu picked out the oddities at once. A few of the Imperials had no eyes. They had obviously not decayed away, but been plucked out by the roots, for these undead were better preserved than the others. They walked more uprightly, and where the others jostled against one another at every step, these kept a space around them by shoving the others off with crude clubs made from lengths of wood. They were the only ones armed.

"Ware the Eyeless Ones," said the voice of the Argonian assassin. "They see better than the others."

Varanu had no time to dwell on that, because it was at that moment that the stinking, rotting horde rushed in from both sides. She took a short step to meet the frontrunners on the left, spreading fire with one sweep of the scimitar. She cut only one creature in half, but its crawling, burning remains held up the others and set the Fire of Arkay free among them. Varanu took another short step the other way, feeling Esgeriad move easily with her, and turned to flay that line of attackers with spatters of red fire.

The fight was on. She turned and cut, turned and cut, until she was gasping for breath and sweat soaked her garments under her armor. She felt Esgeriad shield her more than once, and the hand of force selectively shoved zombies away when they were too many or too close.

"I'm running low," Varanu said after half an hour or a hundred years. "Can you hold them two seconds?"

"Yes," Esgeriad said.

"Now." She let go of the sword with one hand and snatched a welkynd stone from her belt. She used it and threw the empty at the nearest undead, who were straining toward her as if walking against a strong wind. "Done," she said. The zombies surged forward, and behind her she heard the hum of Esgeriad using a stone himself.

She had no leisure to watch what the assassins were doing, but all of them were visible now, if only as half-seen flashes of steel in the corners of her eyes. Crackles of lightning gave away the Breton's position.

The undead kept coming.

_We can't keep this up, _Varanu thought. _Not for long._

---

Marynd aimed a savage kick at a dead Imperial, twisting its head half around and knocking it backwards. Putting down zombies was no work for a Brother or Sister. All the delicate precision with which the spirit could be excised from living flesh was utterly wasted on them. His poison-enchanted dagger did seem to stop them eventually, but it didn't matter where he cut them, and they would keep on trying to seize him for the half-minute or so that the venom took to exorcise the moving force from the dead body.

_They're not trying to kill us, or this would be harder, _he recognized. He had expected as much. Entragius must put recruitment before satisfying the bloodlust of his creatures, or his army would shrink. Besides, he needed living bodies for his ongoing Experiment, and it seemed unlikely he would go out and get them himself. _I wouldn't._

Marynd spun easily out of the clutches of one of the Eyeless Ones. This one had been female in life, an awful parody of beauty still remaining in its empty face and the suggestion of curves in its desiccated body. The corpse's sockets tracked him as he ducked between two others, lightly puncturing each one with the dagger. He took great care not to snag the weapon in tendons or around bones. Other undead on whom his poison was at last taking effect collapsed like broken puppets behind and around him, tripping up their fellows.

The ongoing inferno down in the shallow channel to his right told him how the servants of the aedra were faring. That, too, was according to his expectation. He had not underestimated the Dunmeri knight, though it was harder to predict how the Altmer would react. _Unfortunate that I probably will not see which of them breaks first. An interesting question._

Marynd continued his methodical execution of the undead. The Eyeless One watched him for a few seconds. It startled him only slightly when it spoke.

"This one has poison," it croaked.

"This one has fire," retorted another voice from the other side of the channel, hidden in the press of bodies. "Fire first."

"Fire first," intoned the one nearest Marynd, and then it turned and shoved its way back through the crowd toward the two paladins. There was no apparent end to the undead, who were still pressing in from both directions. They now filled the tunnel for its visible length in both directions, all the way back to where it curved out of sight.

_These two likely will not be killed at once, and Entragius will occupy himself with them for a time. _Marynd raised his voice to be heard over the sounds of moaning and shrieking and the crackle of the flames.

"Follow," he said. Then he raised one hand as he called up his invisibility again. The nearest zombie shrieked, flailing angrily at the space he had recently occupied, as he dodged back toward the way from which they had entered. His Sanctuary would know where he meant to go.

A screamed curse from the Dunmeri woman followed him, and then he was out of the press and into the long tunnel with the iron gate at one end. He ran easily and fast, but he felt Dra'thani pass him as if he were standing still. He heard a few zombies follow them, attracted by the buffeting of passing bodies, but they quickly fell behind.

Marynd shot out into the walkway of the larger tunnel that had brought them to the culvert. The other two arrived behind him, puffs of air tugging at his clothing. "Name yourselves," he said.

"This one is Dra'thani," said a voice ahead of him.

"Nee Ja, Speaker."

"Michel Severn."

"The Eyeless must find no corpses near this door," Marynd said. "Hide yourselves. You must be truly hidden, not invisible, is that clear?" He listened for the expected affirmatives, and then the four darted off. Marynd ran further down the slick rim of the channel, past two side passages. _Too obvious. _He went on until he came to a drain hole he had seen earlier – only four feet above the floor, but certainly large enough to hide even a tall man.

As it happens, it was also big enough to hold a vampire. Red eyes gleamed out of the dark hole. "Out," Marynd said. The creature snarled and flung itself at him. Marynd stepped easily out of the way and sunk the dagger into the back of its skull as it went by. It dissolved into ashes. Marynd checked the drain for any others before he climbed inside. It could have been dirtier than it was. A spongy growth of moss and algae had absorbed a good part of the organic residue normal to its use. Marynd let his invisibility fall away, now that it was of no use and he might need the magicka.

Presently he heard the slap of dead feet on the stone. With a practiced ear, he distinguished two separate gaits. One took longer steps than the other.

They came to a stop, still out of his view. Another very soft step moved toward him and them. _Out of one of the side passages._

"Back to your own territory, slime," said a voice speaking accented Cyrodilic, probably a Breton. _A Breton vampire. _One of the zombies growled in response.

"Filth," said another voice, dripping with scorn. "They won't turn back. They're too stupid."

"Then I suppose we'll just have to get our hands dirty," said the first voice. There were sounds of a struggle, but they were brief, culminating in a series of splashes. Marynd had no trouble envisioning the outcome of an encounter between two zombies and an equal number of vampires. The latter were just as strong and much faster, and if they dared not use the most effective expedient of fire, they were perfectly capable of rending the zombies limb from limb and tossing them into the fast-flowing water where they could do no harm.

"Ugh," said a vampire's voice, confirming his guess. "Will the pieces crawl out?"

"The current will hold them. Now they're in bits, they'll run down in a couple of hours," said the Breton voice. "Let's go see what they were after, hm?"

"See if there are any more of them first," suggested the other.

"I suppose we ought. Come on." Marynd, listening very carefully, heard both sets of soft footsteps receding.

He waited. After five minutes, they came back toward him.

"Magnus will want to know," said the Breton. "They didn't wander in here for no reason. They're not curi - " The voice cut off with a choking noise, ending in a dusty _poof_. There was a snarl from the other one, and then it was likewise silenced. Marynd slid out of the drain with his dagger still in hand.

"To me," he said softly. Dra'thani ran lightly around the bend, now innocent of cloak or gloves and clad in dark linens. She held the end of a steel garrot in her left hand, the rest wrapped around her wrist like a bracelet. Nee Ja came wading up out of the sewer channel, shaking her head to clear the awful water from her eyes and nose. Michel Severn padded up behind Dra'thani.

"Using the water to mask its heartbeat," said the Khajiit. She flicked a gray-white ear. "A good idea if the ear it eludes is less keen than Dra'thani's."

"Those other two evidently were," Michel said. The light was dim and diffuse, absent the painful glare of the paladin's blade, but Marynd recognized the amusement in the Breton's glance. It turned to a soft snicker as Nee Ja climbed up out of the channel with a severed hand gripping her ankle. She shook it off, and it plashed back into the sewage.

"All drinkers of blood are not the same, no," Dra'thani said. "This one would find it inconvenient to creep up on the old one. Magnus. And that one clearly has had no trouble creeping up on all of you, Brothers and Sisters."

Marynd forced himself to turn slowly as he looked behind him. The undead Imperial stood perhaps fifty yards away, just past the bend in the tunnel. His face was stark and hollow.

"So you have left the two paladins to die," he said. His tone was neutral, neither angry nor curious. The Speaker for the Anvil Sanctuary recognized it immediately.

"No," Marynd said. "Entragius will not kill them quickly or suddenly. He'll believe we fled. Without those two, we can approach him with much less difficulty."

"An idea not entirely outside mine," Magnus said. "I am not averse to letting you do my work for me. But do not attempt to pass this way again."

"Very well," Marynd said, and turned back to the others. "Come."


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

Her head hurt profoundly.

Varanu woke with the bizarre impression that she had dreamed the last few weeks. After all, it was ridiculous for her to have met the Hero of Kvatch in a cave, wasn't it? What were the odds? She had entirely hallucinated the Altmeri knight, probably out of some masochistic need for the desirable and unreachable. She had conjured an impossible quest out of a fevered, diseased mind, and was only now waking up in that same cave in Anvil with astral vapors. _The circle is closed._

_Except my hands are shackled above my head, _she realized. The edges dug painfully into her wrists where they had to support her. Her weight was slung fully forward, but there was no ground against her face and chest.

No creature she could have met in that cave would have shackled her. Eaten her, yes. Tied her up, no. Further, the reassuring weight of her armor was gone, and a draft across her belly said that her shirt was gone, too. She still seemed to have the few turns of cloth that served to provide all the support a pair of unimpressive breasts would ever need. The loss of a sweaty shirt didn't bother her as much as the fact that her sword belt also seemed to be gone. Something stung across her chest, sore as a salted wound. _Oh, gods and daedra._

She wasn't hanging. Her knees and her bare toes were in contact with the cold ground. She fumbled her feet under her and pushed, pulling against the shackles. A chain scraped above her. Only when she was sure she could stand up without vomiting did she open her eyes.

Varanu squinted them half-closed again. The floor beneath her feet was the same gray stone as the rest of the sewers. So, if feeling was any judge, was the wall at her back. The rest of the room was terribly, garishly opulent, from the enormous red and purple rugs to the gold-tasseled cushions on the dark wooden chairs. Soft candlelight and an overpowering, sickly fragrance emanated from red candles in tall sconces. Gems glittered in the decanter on a round table that was polished to a high shine. (Sotha's Arms, but she was thirsty.) The walls were covered with tapestries on the sort of themes she would once have associated with Dibella, except that Dibella forbade doing harm to others. Only the stained workbench at this end of the room conceded to hard practicality.

_Decadent fetcher. _She saw the backs of a couple of people in the two doorways that led out of the room, probably more of the Eyeless. Staring at the eye-hurting brilliance of the room, she completely missed the necromancer himself. Then she heard a soft whisper from her left, and turned and saw Esgeriad. Glorian Entragius was immediately forgotten.

The Altmer's hands were shackled, the same as hers. A single chain ran through a ring above his head, connected the two bracelets of rusty iron. He was barefoot and stripped down to his linen trousers. The achingly lovely expanse of golden skin thus exposed was marred by a shallow cut along each of his collarbones. A notch had been carved at the top of his sternum as well, and thin streamers of drying blood decorated his chest. His wrists had bled. There were bruises on his arms that had the shape of fingers. _He put up a fight. _He hung limply in his chains, his head fallen forward. His hair had slid over the other shoulder so that it swayed down beside his face. It hung in strings, begrimed and bloody. His eyes were closed.

"Esgeriad?" Her voice came out ugly and hoarse. "Esgeriad, how did we get here?"

She remembered some of it, now. They'd been surrounded, and then the twenty-times-damned assassins had run away. The dead had kept on closing in, so many and so fast that when next she tried to renew her magicka Esgeriad was shoved away from her. After that it had been one long nightmare of trying to fight her way back to him, always trying to zero in on the place where zombies were being flung higher than her head. She didn't recall being swarmed under. One of the Eyeless must have hit her from behind. "Esgeriad," she said again. He showed no sign that he heard her.

An Imperial voice answered from somewhere on her right, the accent crisp and perfect. "I doubt he'll answer you. He seems more or less catatonic."

Varanu's head snapped around, and then she saw the man in the gray velvet robe over by the workbench. He was tall for an Imperial, but he still had the powerful shoulders and thick waist characteristic of that race. The line of his mouth was thin and sere, denying the hedonistic glory of his surroundings.

"Glorian Entragius," Varanu said. Belatedly, she wondered why she couldn't sense any evil from him. _This close, it ought to be unbearable. _Yet there was no tingle of fire in waiting at her fingertips. She might have been in a temple at high noon, for all the ill she could detect around her.

"At your service, paladin of the Divines," said the necromancer. "You _are_ a paladin of the Divines, aren't you? You seem to have burnt up a good number of my soldiers."

"Obviously not enough," she said. "Why can't I burn _you_?"

"So easy to forget that you generally can't see your own clavicles," Entragius said. He came to stand in front of her, out of range of any possible kick. "It's called the Necklace of Molag. You may observe it on your companion there. While the mark obtains, your magicka will be utterly stunted, with a corresponding effect on your spiritual perception. He was trying so hard to stop me from doing it to you." Entragius smiled reminiscently. "I think he must have hurt something internally trying to cast a spell. He hardly seemed to notice anything we did after that."

Whoreson dog," Varanu said, and winced as the mark on her chest throbbed suddenly. She _could _see the blood that had soaked into her chest wrap, if she strained her eyes downward.

"Exquisite, isn't it?" Entragius said, watching her closely. "It's actually in your power to revoke it." He chuckled throatily. "I don't think you will guess how before I'm ready to perform the ceremony. In any case, I would save you breath for whatever prayers you plan to say. Not that they'll do you any good, but I find most people want to try." He chuckled again, then turned and went back to the workbench.

Varanu turned and lowered herself onto her heels, leaning as far toward Esgeriad as she could. Her shoulder brushed his. "Dibella's Knight," she said. There was no answer. The contact of her shoulder made him sway slightly in his chains, and she caught a glimpse of his back. Blind fury left her breathless for a long few seconds, and then she gritted her teeth. _That's no good to either of us._

Someone, presumably Entragius, had laid stripes into Esgeriad's back. _With a short rod, not a whip. I would've seen the marks on his shoulders. _The cuts were shallow, made with a weapon intended to sting more than to wound, but a good number of them crisscrossed the mess of blue and purple bruising. "I'm sorry," she said in a raw whisper. "They should have been mine. I could've stood it."

_That wouldn't have stopped Entragius, _she recognized silently. _He would have done it to Esgeriad exactly because he was the one without scars. Sadistic bastard. May his entrails be eaten by larval shalk. _She clamped down again on futile rage. The Necklace of Molag pained her again, as if it were responding to even the thought of profane speech.

If she pulled her right arm uncomfortably up behind her head, she could strain far enough with the left one to reach Esgeriad. If she pulled further, until she thought her shoulder was about to come out of the socket or her hand be cut off, she could get her arm around his waist below the marks. She managed this, and then relaxed just enough to pull him toward her, relieving the strain on her arm and taking some of the weight from his bleeding wrists. His head fell against her relatively clean shoulder. They were hip to hip now, both on their knees.

"Esgeriad," she said. "Answer me." She could feel his heart beating in his throat, fast and irregular. He was breathing very shallowly. Varanu took a deep breath as she leaned carefully against his right side, trying to calm her own pulse so that he would feel it. _I really, really hate what I'm about to say, but if anything will bring him out of it, this will. He wouldn't be Esgeriad if he could refuse a friend. _

"Dibella's Knight," Varanu said softly. "I need your help."

She winced as his pulse jumped, and then he inhaled hard, as if the awareness of pain had only just returned. His eyelashes flickered against her skin.

"I believe I may be hallucinating," he said weakly. "Did Arkay's Knight just ask for _my_ help?"

Varanu rolled her eyes. "Oh, good, sarcasm. Yes, you arrogant Altmeri son-of-a-guar." She held very still as she waited for the stab from the Necklace to subside. "We may be able to get out of this."

"I fear I cannot see how," Esgeriad said.

"Glorian said we can break the Necklaces," Varanu said. "If we can guess how it's done."

Esgeriad rolled his head on her shoulder. One half-lidded yellow eye regarded her. "I am rather surprised you believe him."

"Well, he's obviously an evil wh – aargh." She stiffened involuntarily. _I didn't even get the entire word out that time. It's like it's cumulative._

"What?" Esgeriad pulled gently, and Varanu let him go. He leaned on his sore wrists rather than try to straighten his back as he looked at her. Her eyes slid aside from that close regard.

"It's the g – it's the Necklace. But you wouldn't notice, would you? You don't curse."

"Never," Esgeriad agreed, smiling faintly. "You are rather different from the great majority of the servants of the Divines in that regard." The smile vanished. He took a careful breath. "I... There is something I need to tell you. I don't see this as the best time, but I doubt we will live to see a better."

"Agreed," Varanu said. _Vivec's Tears. What's _this _now? _"What is it?"

"I love you," said Esgeriad.


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23

Esgeriad watched the Knight of Arkay very closely. She looked back at him with a completely blank face. She blinked once. Her dark complexion was getting darker as he watched, the flush creeping down her neck and shoulders. There were chevron scars across the stringy muscle in her abdomen, the result of having the ebony cuirass driven into her body by blows over and over. Something had cut across her navel, once, and now it was pulled sideways into a notch across her belly. _Such peculiar things one notices when one is about to die._

"Do try not to have an apoplexy," he said. His own voice sounded profoundly unattractive in his ears, partly because he couldn't take a deep breath without pain. Any degree of resonance was thus impossible.

"Whurg?" Varanu said, or something like it. She shook her head, then stopped abruptly as this apparently caused her discomfort. "Did you just say - ?"

"I love you," he repeated, as firmly was was possible under current circumstances. If he tried very hard, he could speak without moving any muscles in his back or neck. "I'm terribly sorry to be telling you now, but as I said..." Shrugging seemed a less than optimal idea, and the Knight of Arkay was still looking thunderstruck. "Is it really such a surprise to you?" He cocked his head – very carefully – so that he could look at her from under his lashes. "I had the impression that you did, at one point, find me attractive."

Deliberately annoying her seemed to have the desired affect. Her customary expression of stubborn suspicion was trying to reassert itself. "Oh, spare me," she said. "I've still got eyes in my head, yes. That's not to the purpose. I thought you wanted to be _friends._"

"I do," Esgeriad said.

"And I thought _you _thought love was incompatible with that," she said. "That's what you told me."

"And it is what I believed," he said. "Dibella appears to have disagreed with me. My vow is refused."

"That girl at the inn?" Varanu said.

Esgeriad nodded. "She was the messenger. I need hardly tell you it was something of a shock to hear _that _ from the Lady."

He knew the instant he'd said it that he had said the wrong thing. Varanu's crimson eyes narrowed. "I'll bet it was," she said. "Because you wouldn't take my word for anything, would you? The Fire of Arkay doesn't mean anything to you. You thought you had the stain of murder on your soul. And what would that make _me, _Esgeriad?" She didn't wait for his answer. "Do you think I could've been serving Arkay _and _carrying the unguent _and _saying the Unction over myself to any effect _at all _if that were true?"

"But you," he began, and stopped. Varanu glared.

"Yes, I said I had a dispensation. It doesn't cover _quite _that much, Knight of Dibella."

"I did not suppose it did, Knight of Arkay," he managed.

"Gods _damn _you, Esgeriad," she said, and froze. She glanced downward, although it was not possible she could see the Necklace of Molag at that angle. "Gods damn you to a... Thousand... Fiery... Hells," she ground out. "Oh, _I see,_" she muttered under her breath. "Very _clever, _Necromancer. No, I'll bet ninety percent of the other paladins in Cyrodiil would never in a million years have guessed."

"Guessed what?" Esgeriad said, now both puzzled and disturbed.

"Are we ready?" said Glorian Entragius. He came back from the workbench with a black soul gem in his hand. The end was filed to a point. Esgeriad watched it glitter in the harsh light from the candles. Varanu stood up quickly. She resumed muttering curses through her gritted teeth. "Ah, so you did guess correctly. You are, unfortunately, too late." He waved a hand, and a ribbon of red light shot from his fingers to Varanu's chest. Esgeriad was on his feet, heedless of the pain in his back and wrists, but even straining at the very end of his restraints there was nothing he could do. Entragius moved his hand as if jerking on a fishing line, and the ribbon snapped. The Knight of Arkay stumbled back against the wall, then slid to her knees. She stared furiously up at Entragius, head lolling, but it was obvious she couldn't speak.

"I don't suppose you're likely to be very cooperative, either," Entragius said, and prepared to fire another fatigue drain at Esgeriad. Then he stopped, one hand raised. Emotions changed place rapidly across his severe features, and then he whirled toward the room's twin doorways. "Who dares?" he breathed, and then he raised his hand above his head instead. Purulent yellow light diffused over him like a powder. "Find them and kill them, you rotting fools!" The two Eyeless in the doorway disappeared. Entragius shot an irritated glance back at the two paladins. "I'll get to you later," he said. "Don't think I won't."

Esgeriad ignored him. He knelt beside Varanu. "Knight of Arkay?" he said.

There was no answer.

---

"We are detected, Speaker," said Nee Ja, and kicked another zombie into the canal. Others were swirling down the tunnel toward them. Marynd smiled thinly.

"No doubt he's aware of the destruction of his own revenants. It does not matter. Follow me." He dodged into a narrow passage, listening intently, and then shot out into a larger room. A set of stone steps ran up to a walkway that spanned the area and disappeared into another doorway at the top. Marynd started up without hesitation. He met one of the Eyeless Ones on his way across the span. Kicking it off the walkway did not kill it, of course, but Michel Severn had managed to summon a sharp axe for himself. It would do.

The mage and the Shadowscale came behind him. Dra'thani was already up ahead. "More of the Eyeless Ones here," she said. There was an impact and an angry snarl from the doorway ahead.

"How many?" Marynd said.

"Not enough," said the vampire. Two halves of an Eyeless One slid out toward his feet, bleeding black ichor. Marynd kicked them aside and followed Dra'thani in.

"Six more inside, Speaker," said Michel Severn. "This far from the main channel, I can risk burning them."

"Do it," Marynd said. "You two will assist him." _And I will concern myself with Glorian Entragius. _His only hope of winning back any degree of credibility within the Brotherhood was ahead of him. He would not fail.

---

_Come on! _Varanu shrieked silently, willing herself to recover faster. She could move her jaw now, but only just. Exhaustion held her down like a weight of lead, and forming words again seemed years away. She had closed her eyes to avoid having to look at Esgeriad's worried, guilty face. She was in no danger of losing consciousness, not with her heart pounding so furiously. _Let me have the Fire back. That's all I'm asking. Let me kill Entragius before he kills me. _

She opened her eyes to check on the object of her loathing. The necromancer was pacing back and forth, muttering to himself. Every so often he would stop and stare toward the two empty doorways as if he could see what was past them. Varanu shook as strength began to bleed back into her arms and legs. At last she could force her mouth and tongue and vocal cords into a guttural whisper: _"Filthy... S'wit..." _This time she was angry enough to ignore the pain, though it seemed to be getting worse, stabs of agony reaching back into her chest. But every time the pain got worse, she felt the tingle of divine fire at the ends of her fingers. _The only way to break the Necklace._

There was a soft rattle of chains beside her, but she couldn't look to see what Esgeriad was doing. She had to concentrate. _"May clannfear... Devour... His... Children..." _He probably didn't have children, but it seemed to work anyway. The fingers of the curse jabbed back into her spine like needles, and for an instant she felt the atmosphere of awful evil as strongly as the sweet reek from the candles.

She opened her mouth to speak again, but Esgeriad seemed to have managed to partly free one arm – and he had longer arms than she had. He hooked it around her waist and dragged her toward him. "Stupid Altmeri... Son-of-a- " She _oof_ed as he dropped her on the stone floor, then arched her back against the agony that followed.

"Yes, I know," Esgeriad said grimly, and then he stood up. If he strained far to one side, and she stayed where he had put her, he was directly between her and Entragius. "Do continue."

Something was happening. Through the red fog in front of her eyes, she saw an Eyeless One come flying back through one of the doorways without a head. An instant after that, a fireball from the opposite doorway incinerated what was left. A tall man with dark brown skin strode in after it.

"Glorian Entragius," said the assassin called Marynd.

"Who are you?" demanded the necromancer.

"Worthless bleeding pig," Varanu panted, and braced herself for the pain. This time she had been a little too loud; the necromancer heard her. He spun with a curse of his own and threw the drainage spell, then snapped back around to face the intruder.

His aim was a little high. And besides, Esgeriad was squarely between him and Varanu. He crumpled sideways as the ribbon broke, but Entragius hadn't had time for a full charge. Esgeriad cried out when his back hit the wall, but he didn't stay down for long. Varanu watched from the corner of her eye as he climbed painfully back to his feet.

"We are your death," Marynd said.

"We'll see about that, won't we?" said Entragius, and threw a spell. Varanu didn't bother to see if it hit. If she knew the evil Redguard, he would dodge it easily. She was busy trying to work up the courage to speak again. _This is really, really going to hurt. _

Varanu took a deep, careful breath, dredging up from long memory the curses her old grandmother used to call down on recalcitrant guar and unfaithful husbands. She would only get one chance. She could feel blood leaking out of her nose and ears. There were other people in the room now, and zombies pouring in after them, but she didn't have time to worry about that.

She took another deep breath. And then she spoke. The venom of centuries of Ashlander women with manifold grievances poured from her lips. She stifled her screams for the first few seconds, but after that there was no point. Glorian Entragius was far too busy to worry about her. It seemed like it went on for ages, and then one last convulsion shook her. She coughed, choking on the blood in her throat, and then the sense of evil and decay and everything around her that was _wrong _poured down like a waterfall over her head.

"_Thank you," _she whispered, as soon as her throat was clear enough to speak, and then she got on top of her senses just in time for the surge of magicka to hit. Fire burst from her fingers and ran up her arms like the contagion of pain. Irons that had been used by and for evil didn't last five seconds. They disintegrated the instant the fire touched them. Esgeriad had turned at the hiss of the rising flame, and he stood dumbly as she reached out to burn away his restraints.

Then she turned toward the necromancer. He seemed to be holding off the assassin, possibly because the three others were all busy with the constant influx of further undead. Ashes and dismembered bodies were piling up in the doorways. And no knife, however swift and clever, could get through the shield wall that surrounded Glorian Entragius. Marynd was on the other side of him from Varanu, his image distorted by the ripple of the shield between them.

Varanu stepped forward. Fire ran up to the ends of her hair and down her body, wreathing her in the wrath of Arkay. She could see all of it, clinging to Glorian's shoulders in a black miasm – every unjust death, every unmourned soul, every unclean thing imprisoned in this plane where the dead did not belong.

"Glorian Entragius," she said. He whirled, and through the distortion she could still see his look of belated realization. "That's right, fetcher," said Varanu, and flung herself at the shield. The fire cut through it like a knife through butter, and then it disintegrated around her and she laid her hands on the necromancer.


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24

Glorian Entragius cried out as the fire touched him. Varanu seized the wrist that held the sharpened soul gem, but he managed to get the other hand around her throat. For all he could use no magic within the Fire, this was serious. _He's a big man. Lot stronger than I am. Hells, _Esgeriad _is stronger than I am. _He even managed, for a few seconds, to resist the Fire of Arkay, though she could smell his hair singeing. No one had _ever _done that before, necromancer or Undead.

_Last chance, _Varanu thought. She never really considered it praying. _You save us, or you have to send somebody else. Can you do that so easily, old ancestor? Would you have sent me all the way from Bruma if you could?_

The Fire won. Entragius jerked his hand away before he'd even squeezed off her air. She grabbed the front of his robe with her free hand and held on grimly. Varanu felt the fire down to her bones, in every bit of gristle and every corner of her soul, forcing the burning light into the darkness. It stung even Varanu, who had served her aedra for more than ten years. Glorian didn't stand a chance. Flames licked out and caught in his clothing and hair, even on his skin, and then he started to scream in earnest. The high, thin noise seemed to go on long after his vocal cords had burnt up, when he was shriveled to a mummy. Then at last he fell to ashes, and the sound gave way to a ringing silence.

Varanu stood in the dispersing cloud, panting. Ashes sparked wherever the tongues of flame licked out from her shoulders and caught them. Marynd stood with his knife in his hand, still as a stone. Behind her she heard the soft chime of a healing spell. _Esgeriad's Necklace must've broken when this whoreson died. _A moment after that, Esgeriad laid a warm hand on her shoulder, fearless of the fire.

"Be healed," he said, and the blood from her nose and ears crumbled and puffed away into dust. The pain in her chest and throat dissipated as if it had never been.

The zombies had stopped pouring into the room. Varanu could see one or two standing stock-still behind Marynd. The face of the nearest Eyeless One bore an expression of dawning horror.

"Thank you, Dibella's Knight," she said, a little more stiffly than she meant.

"Certainly," he said, with utmost politeness. That seemed to shake Marynd out of his momentary paralysis. He straightened slowly, but did not sheathe the knife. The other assassins came up silently, ranged behind him. The Khajiiti vampire laid her ears flat as she twitched her gray-flecked tail behind her, squinting in the face of the fire. Her eyes gleamed red.

"Well?" Varanu said. She stiffened her legs to keep from swaying. Something inside was raw, old doors burnt down by the FireThe standoff was abruptly broken by an awful gurgling from one of the Eyeless Ones. Varanu risked a glance, unwilling to fully take her eyes from Marynd. _He's faster than I am, or he'd be dead now._

"Dead," said the creature, one hand clutching a throat where no pulse would ever beat again. "We're dead."

Another of the Eyeless pushed through the zombies, who were starting to mill aimlessly around the doorways.

"Yes," it said. The two pale cadavers looked at each other, apparently completely heedless of anyone else in the room.

"Then let there be an end," said the first.

"An end," echoed the other. Then the two of them turned in perfect unison and vanished out of the doors. A second later a scream echoed down the passageway outside, and then another. The zombies seemed to find some awful purpose in the sound. They turned and stumbled out after it. Moments later, the room was empty of all but the two paladins and the four assassins.

Marynd looked at them for what seemed a long time. Behind him, the Breton raised his hands, red magicka glowing at his fingertips. "Speaker?"

"No," Marynd said.

"But we could - "

"_No,_" Marynd said, in a voice of utter cold, and the mage fell silent. The Breton looked at the two paladins with loathing, curling a pale lip. The Argonian stared at the back of Marynd's head, green eyes wide. Only the Khajiit seemed to understand. She flicked her ears once, then settled on her haunches.

"Silly little Breton. Heed your Speaker."

"We could kill you," Marynd said, seemingly ignoring this. "I have not given my word otherwise."

"I wouldn't have believed you if you had," Varanu said. She grinned. For a second she thought the assassin was about to smile back, but he didn't. "Maybe the fire will burn me up in a few minutes. It feels like it might. But I'm here now, and you're not as secure in your evil as Glorian was. You'll burn the second you touch me, and any weapon that pertains to you will do the same. You _might _get Esgeriad if his shield gives out. But remember, he was the one who killed one of you last time. Will you lose another one? Maybe that Breton who keeps giving you lip? You'll probably have to kill him sooner or later anyway, right?"

"That's none of your concern," Marynd said. A minimal flick of the wrist encompassed the other three. "These are my Sanctuary. _My _responsibility. And I won't throw them away on one paladin of the Divines." He stuck his dagger into his belt. "It's Chaos we serve. Personal revenge is a goal of order – you would say of the closing of circles. It doesn't belong to what we are."

"Not what I would've expected to hear," Varanu said.

"Your expectation isn't _my _concern," Marynd said. "Goodbye, Knight of Arkay. I sincerely hope we never meet again." And just like that, he turned and stalked out. The others followed him. The Breton never turned his back to them, devouring the two paladins with his eyes. The Khajiit snatched the jeweled decanter from off the table and took a swig on her way out.

Varanu watched the door for almost a minute after they were gone. Then she said, "Are you all right?" Her own voice sounded strange now. _The fire is inside my throat._

"Yes, of course," he said briskly.

_Sure you are. _With her back to him, she traced the outline of the new scars along her collarbones. _Healed, but not gone_. _Can you live with scars, Dibella's Knight? So immaculate as you've always been? _"Could you find our armor?" she said.

"Certainly. And a welkynd stone or two may be in order, I think," he said. She heard him pad over toward the workbench. She wondered if she'd been shaking the whole time she talked to the assassin. _I'm still on fire. Maybe he couldn't tell. _She kept her eyes on the door, listening to Esgeriad rummage around behind her. She expected some sound, some comical expression of distaste, but he said nothing at all.

Screams sounded periodically off in the distance. Occasionally there was a wet _thud, _but the sounds seemed to be getting further away. _I'll bet Magnus isn't wasting any time taking his kingdom back. _She looked longingly at one of the soft chairs, but they had belonged to Glorian. None of them could possibly hold her for more than a second or so. Her flesh still wasn't burning – she held up a hand to check – but she felt as if it had. And Glorian's spell had left its mark. She was so very tired...

_The Fire doesn't replenish. It only burns. I have places to go today, aedra of mine. Let go of me now._

---

Esgeriad hurried into his amulets and armor, ignoring the stains of sweat and blood inside it. It was amazing what one could get used to when the alternative was death, he thought dryly. He barely felt faint at all, and that was probably from the aftereffects of the fatigue drain. _Yet I felt it less than Varanu did. She has not learned the resistance to magicka that comes from practicing in more than one school at a time. _He buckled the last strap and gathered up Varanu's armor. It was heavier than he'd expected. He staggered over to where the Knight of Arkay stood and dropped it at her feet, then dug a welkynd stone out of his newly-restored purse and held it out. Her burning fingers clamped around it as if it were a life preserver, and the charge of magicka expired almost immediately. She half-fell to her knees, reaching for the greaves.

He hated to ask, but she seemed so very tired... "Can you bear the weight?" Esgeriad said. Varanu laughed once, and the flames began to die down and shrink back. He smiled in tired relief.

"The day I can't stand up under _this _armor is the day they put me to bed with a shovel, Dibella's Knight," she said, and as she spoke the hissing echo of the burning faded from her voice. "Go find my scimitar."

She did manage to get upright on her own with the armor on, but only just. He watched from the corner of his eye as he looked under the bench for the sword. It would probably be an insult to offer his help. He'd been singularly ineffective so far today. _Yes,_ _I healed her. Without her willingness to speak words that horrify me, I would not have survived to do so. I could not stop the horde from bringing us down, nor keep Glorian from doing as he wished. _He probably only imagined that the new scars on his back and chest and wrists were burning. Surely the Lady could forgive those? He always wore his armor anyway. No one would see them. _But I know they are there. And so does Dibella. _He sighed. _And where shall I go now? Arkay's Knight does not love me, and surely cannot desire me any longer. _She had seen him at his weakest, at his worst. No weak thing would do for the goddess of blood and fire he had seen a few moments ago.

But the end of the world as he knew it could wait. He dragged the heavy scimitar toward him and straightened up again. Varanu turned and came stiffly over to take it from him. She made a face at the weight, but did not sheathe it. "Was my unguent over there?" she said. He handed the small vial to her. She turned and went to the workbench with its vials of unspeakable and unidentifiable things and cast a few drops over the whole thing.

Esgeriad watched the doors as she said the Rites of Arkay over the table. By the sound of things, most of its contents evaporated afterwards. _Everything that was ever made from part of a living body. Great were the sins of Glorian Entragius._

"Right," Varanu said. "Let's go." She stumped past him toward the doors. Esgeriad cast ahead with his life detection, but there was nothing animate within a hundred yards in any direction.

"There is nothing near us," he said. "Not even the vampires."

"They're probably still busy – ugh." Varanu stepped out of the door and into a pool of slimy ichor on a high walkway. "Watch your step." She flung a few more drops around, sprinkling the walkway and the room beneath, and muttered the Rites again as they walked. Things Esgeriad refused to name vanished from around his feet as he made his way across the stone bridge after her.

On the other side was a staircase going down and a ladder going up. At the top of the ladder was a manhole cover. Varanu did not so much as look at it as she went down the stairs. Esgeriad, who had expected no less, followed without comment.

He heard the Rites of Arkay enough times in the next fifteen minutes to have them memorized for life. The unguent vial did not seem to run out as they went down what seemed a mile of winding corridors full of slaughter, black blood splashed as high as Esgeriad's head on the walls. The stench was indescribable. It was unclear whether the zombies had destroyed each other or been destroyed by the vampires, but not many were in one piece. He dared not look further, but he doubted whether any were even in _large _pieces.

At last he heard the sound of water running. He cast ahead with his magicka-enhanced vision, grateful for even that grim change of subject. "There are six in the tunnel," he said. "Vampires, or Eyeless Ones. They are all together fifty yards to your right."

"Six?" Varanu said. She didn't turn her head, but he heard the smile in her voice. Esgeriad did not agree, but he kept that to himself. He was firmly resolved not to argue with her for the last brief time he would ever spend in her company.

Varanu looked to the right, searching for the Undeads, as soon as she stepped out of the tunnel mouth. She stayed close to the wall, which was merely ordinarily filthy here rather than smattered with gore. Esgeriad still detected them, but his eyes did not see make them out in the dim until they were ten yards or so away.

They were vampires. Their purposeful movement made that certain well before he could really see them, and then he saw the glowing eyes. He felt the intimation of evil that came with them, but having survived the return of his full senses in Glorian's domain, he felt no impact from it.

"Oh, look," said a slick voice whose owner Esgeriad could not identify. "We've found something _alive, _my brothers."

"Red blood in their veins," said another voice which might be female.

Varanu made a very small sound of effort, and the scimitar caught fire. Esgeriad laid his hand on her shoulder and released another shield. "Your sire has better manners than you do," the Dunmer said. "I'd think he'd have warned you about us."

One of the six growled. A scrawny hand tugged at the leader's ragged clothes. "The burning one," he said. "Master said to leave her alone. He did."

"He did," agreed one or two of the others. There was a general backwards movement, albeit a reluctant one.

"There'll be live people down here soon enough, I suspect," Varanu said. "As long as there are idiots in the Order of the Virtuous Blood."

One of the vampires laughed, and then they turned and ran away. Esgeriad's eyes could not trace them, but with another set of eyes he watched the purple auras speed off. Varanu's flame went out, leaving an afterimage in his eyes, and he heard her thumb the unguent vial open onehanded.

"We don't have time to go through everything down here," she said. "And I won't send anyone from the Temple of the One into this hell. They're not prepared for this, or they'd have seen to Glorian long ago." She stepped to the edge of the sewer channel and held the vial out. "If you're going to come up with a miracle, now would be a good time."

She poured the entire contents of the vial into the channel. It seemed to hold quite a bit more than it ought, even with what she had poured out earlier. Then she began to say the Rites of Arkay one last time. A blue light swirled in the bottom of the channel, flickering off the slimy walls, and then it spread and the current ran with lambent threads. Varanu spoke more forcefully as she corked the empty bottle again. Her voice echoed hoarsely from the stone walls. It was not a lovely sound, but some ear somewhere still heard it. When she came to the end of the Rite, Esgeriad felt a twist at the top of his spine. The sound of a great exhalation, like the last breath of hundreds, rose from the tunnels.

A faint blue mist puffed up from the sewer channel. It cleared away gradually, leaving everything seemingly as it had been before. Varanu stood silent for a moment. Esgeriad realized she was hesitating. _She didn't expect it to work_.

"Your prayer is answered," he said gently. "Indeed, I begin to doubt whether your aedra will ever deny you."

Varanu made a sound of soft derision. "The trick is to ask for the right thing," she said. Then she turned around and went back into the tunnel again.

"How very true," Esgeriad said. _If only I had realized it thirty years sooner._

---

The rungs of the ladder were nearly clean as they climbed up to the manhole. Varanu shoved at the round cover with her eyes averted. It came loose with a rusty grinding noise. She clambered up out of the hole, and she heard the clatter of boots as Esgeriad followed with alacrity.

She swayed, half-blinded, as she stood again on green grass. When her eyes had better adjusted, she saw that they stood on a small patch of lawn near the high, curved wall of the Arena. People gave the two filthy mer no more than a passing glance as they went by. _They've no idea. And they never will. _She kicked the manhole cover awkwardly back into place.

Beside her, Esgeriad breathed deeply of the clean air. "I suppose it is time I relieve you of the burden of my company," he said. His tone was light, but it seemed a little forced. "I have fulfilled any prophecy Tychicus Varen could have made."

"You have," Varanu said. _I couldn't expect him to stay, _she said to herself, with entirely perfect justice_. Not after what I said to him earlier. _She looked up at him one last time. It had always been hard to look him in the eye, but she could do it. Untarnished gold stared back. _And now the fire has burnt away whatever part of me was ashamed. I was wrong. I'll be paying for it every day from this one forward. That's penance enough. _"I owe you," she told him. "I won't forget that. And if you ever need anything, you go to Tychicus in Bruma. He'll know where I am."

"I have no doubt," Esgeriad said. He pursed his slim lips as if he wanted to say more, but at the last he turned away. "Goodbye, Knight of Arkay." 

"Goodbye, Dibella's Knight," said Varanu Ashazzarnitashpi, and swallowed against the lump in her throat.


	25. Chapter 25

_A/N: I've been noticing I tend to introduce themes of sin and forgiveness perhaps more than they are merited by the theology of the Aedra in lore. This is because I'm a Christian and they form a major part of my own theology. Consider yourselves lucky I haven't tried to tell you Martin Septim died for your sins. :D_

_There's not really a parallel between Aedric and Christian theology, since in Christian theology sin and redemption can both occur without any external activity by the Christian at all – a person who is totally quadruplegic and mute can still sin, repent and be forgiven for it, whereas a person who is very active in good deeds can still burn in Hell for being unrepentant of one hidden sin of which no one else is aware. _

_I think what I'm trying to get at here is that in Oblivion, you can't be condemned for your thoughts, but only your actions; similarly, it is not internal repentance, but only deeds which can redeem you. There are terrestrial religions where that is the case, but mine isn't one of them. It makes for an interesting exercise in comparative theology when writing about fantasy religious systems. _

Chapter 25

Esgeriad left the Arena District as quickly as he could. He stopped at an inn in Talos Plaza to clean himself and his things, but he went to redeem his horse not long after that. (He left the one Varanu had ridden with a message, one last futile gesture.) By that time the sky was dimming. He ignored it. He planned to put off sleeping for as long as possible. _I have seen more horrors in one day than I could have envisioned in a long life. _Besides, the longer he stayed, the harder it would be to move on from the part of his life with Arkay's Knight in it to the rest of it without her.

Even to an Altmeri, that seemed like a very long time.

He rode slowly but without stopping for a long time, singing the saddest song he knew. Bandits did not trouble him. He might, had he been paying closer attention, heard an occasional sniffle from the bushes, but he was far too preoccupied to notice.

He had begun by a peculiar fascination – perverse, in fact, he thought glumly. But Dibella was known to love surprises. It would have been entirely too pedestrian had he gone on for the rest of a protracted existence harmlessly doing good to a few and harm to no one. Instead, he had to be dragging himself down into filthy caves at the back of a surly, suspicious, and frequently profane Dunmeri woman who lacked a significant number of the virtues he had once thought most important in the opposite sex.

_And who possesses in great measure all of those which I myself most lack, _he told himself ruthlessly. _Courage. Resolve. The willingness to sacrifice for the preservation of life, not for accrual of greater comfort to herself. Is this not why I wished to deny the Lady's call?_

He had killed for Varanu, and he had never thought to do that for anyone, ever. He would once have gladly died for – what was her name? Narenwyn? It had been a very long time – but the thought of violence toward another living creature was abhorrent to him and always had been. _It is not so with Varanu Ashazzarnitashpi. _Within his own mind he had been entirely too ready to condemn Arkay's Knight for that, and further, to believe she was imperceptive of that condemnation.She'd damned him to his face, which was something else no one had ever, _ever _done. He'd been too charming for that – if in a personal rather than a magical sense - and he'd avoided the kind of people who could not be won over.

And Dibella had sent one to him instead. And he, insufficiently appreciative of that gift, had thrown it away. _And is it not for this reason that the Lady has taken from me the perfection of body on which I so prided myself? Damn me to a thousand fiery hells, indeed. _His scars _did _hurt him, even after he had healed them, and the Necklace of Molag most of all. Pain was slightly below filth on the level of things he had hoped never to experience in quantity, but it was bad enough.

About halfway between the Imperial City and Anvil, his knee joints started to hurt as well. He noticed it only in passing. He _did _notice, a few miles later, when his wrists and elbows started to hurt as well. Esgeriad reined up, wincing, and pulled off one gauntlet. There was an angry ring around his left wrist, a bracelet drawn in livid flesh. He checked the other one quickly. It was the same. _What further curse is this?_

He tried his cure spell. Nothing happened. He tried a dispel, in case it _was _a curse. Nothing. The marks were ugly, Esgeriad thought. It would serve him right if they were permanent. _No. Pain interferes with my intellectual clarity, I know this. I will seek counsel at the Chapel._

It was daylight the next day by the time he rode listlessly up to the stable outside Anvil. The horse seemed glad to see him go. _Ha. _The worried man staffing the place asked if he were all right, but he seemed satisfied upon being informed that Esgeriad was on his way to the Chapel. "Some trifling indisposition, nothing more," Esgeriad said, smiling wanly, and went on his way.

Anvil was not a very large town, but it seemed a long time before he came to the Chapel on its cobbled pavement beside the Castle Gate. He walked as quickly as the growing pain in his joints allowed, keeping his head lowered in hopes that no one he knew would recognize him. _As if my armor were not conspicuous enough. I did choose it for that reason, did I not?_

He seized the handle of one of the great doors as if it were his hope of heaven and stepped into the cool shadow inside. One of the priests, a slender dark-haired man named Cavaticus, recognized him at once. "Esgeriad is here!" he said quietly, but his resonant voice carried extremely well. "Hello, dear Knight, whatever brings you back to – oh."

Esgeriad had brushed back his hair so that the priest could see his face. He suspected he did not want to know what the man saw there.

"Dear me, you're ill," said Cavaticus. "And I'm between you and the altar. Tsk. May I assist?"

"No, Brother, thank you," Esgeriad said, and made his way to the Altar of the Nine.

The Altar did not cure him. Esgeriad leaned with both hands on the stone and his head bowed. _For the sin of leaving one whom I love, I cannot be forgiven. This I understand. _He heard some sort of exclamation from behind him, and then Cavaticus' retreating feet. A moment later another set of footsteps approached. A voice said sternly, "Esgeriad!"

He thought he recognized the voice. Esgeriad straightened his back, stifling a wince, and turned slowly. The priestess Laralnane regarded him with a beautiful golden eye, staring down her graceful nose. She, too, was Altmeri, but he had always known her to be of a gentle disposition. The look she was giving him was very unlike her.

"Sister?" he said.

"I have a message for you," she said. "From Dibella."

Esgeriad covered his face with his gauntlets as he sank to one knee. "Yes, My Lady. I don't suppose you could refrain from striking me this time?"

---

Varanu cleaned up at the Temple of the One and hurried out of town. She never planned to stop at the stable outside Talos Plaza. In fact, she was on her way past it when the Orcish woman who ran it came out to accost her. "Hey, Lady! You were with Esgeriad here earlier, right?"

"That's right," Varanu said warily.

"He left you a horse," said the Orc. A slit-pupiled eye looked Varanu over as if dubious that she had earned such an honor. "Said I should tell you it's yours to do with as you please. Or something like that. You know how he talks." She smiled, pulling her lips around her stubby tusks.

"I do," Varanu said. "Thanks."

So she rode to Bruma rather than walk. The black horse seemed to share the Orc's attitude regarding Varanu's worthiness, but it cooperated. This was just as well, since she didn't plan to stop until she got there (though by this time the sun was setting). She was deathly tired, but she was too angry with herself to sleep.

_Blind, stupid, ugly s'wit, _she told herself over and over again. _Gods. The poor deluded fetcher actually told me he loved me. _Me. _And what did I do? I insulted him. A whole bunch of times, _she added glumly. _And he never seemed to notice it much before, but this time it took. Small wonder. He must've been working up to that for a while. _

_He'll be all right, _she tried to tell herself. _He's still gorgeous. He'll find some ridiculously beautiful mer somewhere and settle down for the next hundred and fifty years and raise a bunch of mincing blond brats. He doesn't love me. I was just the only woman he'd talked to for the last several weeks. _

But that wasn't really fair to Esgeriad, and not enough blame to her. She'd hurt him. She'd been able to see that when they parted company. _He would've had me even though he did think, for the longest time, that I was a murderess. That's no passing fancy, and after thirty years' abstinence he has to be enough in control not to jump on the first eligible female that appears. Maybe if I'd said I was sorry... Maybe if I'd apologized..._

_And then what? _She honestly wasn't sure she could tell the mer she loved him. She wasn't sure she could say that to anyone, anywhere, ever again. _I loved Almalexia, once. I swore I would never love man or mer or god that way ever again. I chose Arkay because he would never ask it of me. _

And she couldn't sign up for anything less, because _that _wouldn't be fair to Esgeriad either.

_Sotha's Arms, _she thought, profaning the name of a dead god without a second thought. _I could've given it a try. It's too late now. I won't see him again. _

About halfway to Bruma, when the terrain was just starting to climb, she started to notice the pain in her joints. The Necklace had burned her for a while, but she had expected that. _The curse of a daedra isn't that easy to shake. But this is something else. _She didn't think much about it; she'd caught diseases from undeads plenty of times, and it wasn't any worse than knockjoint. She would go to the Altar once she got to the Chapel of Arkay, and that would be the end of it.

It wasn't. When she finally got down from the black horse and made her tired, sore way to the Chapel in the snowy light of day, when she placed her hands on the Altar of the Nine...

Nothing happened.

"_What?"_ she hissed at the inert round of stone. The Altar was persistently silent. Varanu jerked the empty unguent vial from her neck and went to the Altar of Arkay in the corner. She held the vial over it. It glowed, and she watched as the liquid level rose back to the top.

"I see," she said quietly. _There is no cure for me, but I am not released from service. _"All right. I'd have let you burn me up. I suppose this is no worse." She stepped back from the Altar, knelt, and very deliberately touched her forehead to the floor. Then she got up, her joints screaming as if she were already as old as she felt, and prepared to leave.

Tychicus Varen was waiting for her in the aisle. She hadn't heard him approach.

"I am pleased to see you return, Knight of Arkay," he said. "Where is your companion?"

"He l – we parted company," Varanu said. "It was no kind of business for Dibella's Knight, but he stood it like a soldier. You were right about him."

"You will see him again," Tychicus said. "I only hope his affliction will permit him to travel this far."

"His affl – oh, _Hells." I just assumed a Knight of Dibella couldn't catch things as easily as I do. He's spent all his time where it's clean and pretty. _"You'd better not be pulling my leg, Tychicus," she said.

The Imperial cocked his head. "I have never been known to joke," he said calmly. "If you will follow me down to the Undercroft, I will see what I can do for you."

"Forget it," Varanu said grimly. "I'm going to go find Esgeriad."


	26. Chapter 26

_A/N: Most of you will recall other stories and thus can guess what Tychicus is about, but if not, I refer you to _TFC: Luckless.

Chapter 26

She thought at first she was going to have trouble borrowing another horse. The stable's ostler looked at her with the gimlet eye of one who has never lent anything in his entire life. Exhausted, disheveled, and no doubt flushed darkly from the fever that seemed to have started a few minutes previously, Varanu must surely be a disreputable sight. "What for?" he demanded.

Then, through the fog of fatigue and aching pain, inspiration struck. "I have to find my Altmeri friend," she said. "I think something might've happened to him between here and Anvil. Maybe you know him. His name is Esgeriad."

"Oh, sure," said the Nord, scratching his stubbly beard. His lumpy nose had seen better days. "Everybody knows Esgeriad." He shot her another, and only slightly less suspicious glance. "Be leaving that black horse 'til you get back, will you?"

"Of course," Varanu said, and rode off on a chestnut that was worth substantially less. If she knew Dibella's Knight even a little, he was doing exactly the same thing she was doing with a lot less practice surviving both sleep deprivation and disease. _He may be older than I am, but he's never been under a pile of zombies. Well. Not 'til yesterday. He'll figure out I must've caught what he has and ride out to try and rescue me, or warn me, or some other silly thing, and I give him about halfway before he falls off his horse. And that only because a good enough mage can fortify his own fatigue. _He far surpassed her in every school of magic but Destruction, but if the Altar couldn't or wouldn't heal her, it likely hadn't healed him, either.

_Gods, I hope I get to him before some bandit does._

---

Tychicus Varen watched her leave the Chapel without surprise. If he was at all offended by her rudeness, his bland Imperial face did not show it. He turned and went down into the Undercroft. A Breton priestess with a light step and a cheery expression was on her way up the stairs. Varen did not know her well. She had come in the wake of the deaths of his brethren. She seemed very young to him, but he did not generally question those who chose to serve his own god.

"I beg your pardon, Sister Laure," he said. "Is there anyone else in the Undercroft?"

"Not at the moment, Brother," she said. "Why?"

"I need the use of it for a few moments," he said. "A Knight of Arkay came to me with a disease the Altar could not cure. I believe I can derive something which will serve, but I must do so quickly."

"Then with a will, Brother," said Laure. "I'll see you're not disturbed." She waved him on and went her way up the stairs. Tychicus Varen went quickly inside the Undercroft and barred the door behind him. He did it with surprising haste for a man of his short stature, as if the heavy bar weighed nothing at all. Then he went to a small cupboard on one wall, took out an empty pewter bowl, and blew on it. The metal frosted over instantly. Less explicably, it stayed that way, though the room was not at all drafty.

He rummaged for a moment with his free hand and came up with a small knife. He blew on that, too; ordinary steel would not be sharp enough without enchantment. _Frost salts will not do for what I intend. They are too far removed from the first essence of daedric magic. No, this will require something more... vital._

He double-checked to make sure the door was locked before he cut into his wrist.

If anyone saw the blue light under the door to the Undercroft, or heard the crack of breaking ice, they never mentioned it.

---

Typically for her, Varanu had credited Esgeriad with somewhat less common sense than he actually possessed. He got off and walked before he reached the point of falling off the horse. The beast was content to amble along slowly, ignoring the feverish Altmeri clinging weakly to its right stirrup. Every so often he spoke to the horse, but for the most part he went in silence.

Esgeriad had never been afflicted with sickness. He'd cured illness in others, of course. That was his duty to all of the Nine, not merely to the Lady. And, given how spectacularly unlovely sickness generally made people, he was sure Dibella must surely be pleased by it. It normally would have depressed him intensely to consider what he no doubt looked like, flushed with fever and with his hair damp and stringy. At the moment he was too busy bending his entire will toward moving, one step at a time, up the dusty road toward Bruma. The sun was very bright on his head, beating down far more warmly than was comfortable for an afflicted mer in heavy armor.

He used spells to fortify and restore himself once or twice, but his magicka seemed stunted, less ready and slower to recover than before.

He was beginning to be angry. Not only with himself, because he'd been angry with himself for some time now, but with his aedra. Was it truly so very wrong, he asked himself, that he had done thirty years' worth of good deeds for entirely the wrong reason? Were those good things therefore of no effect? Had he really _deserved _to be dying on the road to finding a woman who emphatically did not love nor want him and would certainly send him right back to Anvil even if he _did _make it to -

There were hoofbeats from up ahead. Esgeriad tugged at the horse's bridle, and it obligingly came to a stop.

Esgeriad stared blearily up at the object of his desire. He was too tired to be very surprised to see Varanu. She swung down awkwardly and started toward him. He held up a hand to forestall her.

"I'm not sure to what I owe the pleasure, Knight of Arkay," he said. "But you must not come nearer. I am ill."

"Thanks," she said. "But so am I. Why'd you think I came looking for you?"

He blinked and looked at her again. Her gray skin _was _darker than usual, though the fever-flush did not show well on a Dunmeri complexion. _Nor has she slept any more than I have, or she could not have been here by now. _She was upright, but she did seem to be fighting a tendency to list.

"I was looking for _you_," he said lamely.

"I thought you might be," Varanu said. "But since you didn't expect me to be sick, I'm not sure why."

"I refer you to my earlier statement," he said. "The one I made yesterday."

She had that stunned look again. She took a step toward him and actually staggered physically. Esgeriad reached out to catch her, but was too weak to hold her up; they ended up leaning on each other, barely balanced. Esgeriad's left shoulder was pressed uncomfortably against the horse.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I suppose I assumed you would not take ill as easily as I."

Varanu opened and closed her mouth once. He could only see the top of her head, but he heard her teeth click. "It's not a normal disease," she said finally. "Come on, let's get back to Bruma. Varen thinks he can help."

"I doubt whether I can go so far," Esgeriad said gently. "Perhaps you should return and cure yourself first."

"Don't be an idiot," Varanu said. She pushed away from him, swayed, and righted herself sternly. "You'd be dead by the time I could get there and back. If exposure didn't get you, some robber would."

"You will never be rid of me otherwise, you know," he said. He smiled. "You won't kill me, and I cannot cease to follow you. That is entirely clear to me now."

"You really _can't _pick a good time to say these things, can you?" Varanu said.

"I'm afraid my customary sense of timing deserts me in your presence," he said dryly. "I am told the condition is not uncommon." He shook his head to try and clear it.

"Get out of the armor," Varanu said. "We'll put it on your horse."

"And then what?" said Esgeriad.

"Then we'll put my armor on it, too." She was looking down, away from him, as she fumbled with her cuirass buckle. "You can ride behind me on _my _horse, and I'll keep you from falling off. It's better than walking. If your customary reasoning skills hadn't gone the way of your sense of timing, you'd have thought of it yourself."

Esgeriad sighed and began to remove his own cuirass. It was a relief to be rid of the weight. His feather amulet seemed to be losing its effect. "There really is no hope at all, is there?" he said.

"We have a decent chance," Varanu said. "If I know Tychicus, he'll try and send someone out after us if we don't make it."

"That is not what I was referring to," Esgeriad said acidly. He was aware he was not completely himself, but he had a strong feeling that failing to pursue at this point would be fatal to his cause.

"Oh." Varanu dropped her cuirass onto the dusty roadbed. She looked at it for a moment. Then she sighed in turn and raised crimson eyes to his. The force of that contact was like being hit in the stomach. _Dibella's greatest blessing. Dibella's greatest curse. _"This isn't exactly fair," she said. "I'm not very good at this kind of talk, Esgeriad. I never have been. Gods and daedra, the last time I was in love with someone was probably ten y -"

"_What _did you say?" Esgeriad said. His heart was making a serious effort to leave his body via his throat, and it couldn't _all _be the fever.

"I said I'm not very good at - "

"After that," he said.

"I said the _last_ time I was in love was more than fifteen years ago," she growled. "This stupid Altmeri keeps interrupting me."

"Please accept my humble apology," he said. "May I kiss you?"

"No, you may not," Varanu retorted. She lowered her eyes as she began to unbuckle her greaves. "You're obviously delirious. Besides, you'd fall over. And it completely escapes me how you could even consider kissing someone who looks like me. You could have any woman in Cyrodiil, human, mer or beastfolk - "

"I do not want any other woman in Cyrodiil," he said, as firmly as he could manage in his current state. "No other supplies so perfectly what I lack." He stepped carefully out of his own greaves and went to strap them to the horse's saddle, watching her from the corner of one eye. "Besides, you seem to have forgotten that my looks are entirely ruined." He held up one wrist with its bracelet of red scar, exposed now that his gauntlets were off, before he went on attaching things to the horse. Varanu moved to the other side of the animal, out of his sight. "Who would not be horrified by the marks on my back, except the one who has seen how I came by them? Or how many more must I acquire, to be worthy of Arkay's Knight?"

"It's not a question of worthiness," Varanu said. He could just see the top of her head over the saddle. "You would've had me when you thought _I _wasn't worthy of _you._" She came around the animal clad in only her linens, barefoot on the hard ground. "That was pretty godsdamned arrogant, by the way." She put one hand on the horse's side and leaned there, watching him warily. The animal huffed, but did not move.

"Yes, it was," Esgeriad said. By this time, he was barefoot himself. The road was rough under his feet. "Unfortunately, it is likely I will be so again. If you give me the opportunity – and I do not ask it lightly - I will make it right. Each and every time."

"Fair enough," Varanu said. "But I'm not going to get any better looking. I don't think I could if I wanted to." She shrugged one shoulder. "Besides..." She looked away again. "What I said earlier hasn't changed. I can't need anyone, Esgeriad. What if you get killed?"

"Contemplate very carefully all of the things I have survived with you in the last two days," Esgeriad said coldly. "Even with the blessing of your aedra, it is doubtful you will outlive an Altmeri. And I will thank _you _not to patronize _me, _madam."

"Don't call me - " she began hotly, but Esgeriad interrupted almost immediately.

"Do you hear something?" There had been a faint _whisshhh_ of magicka used nearby, out of sight behind a grove of trees. _And not in any small amount. _The hairs were rising up and down his spine, an effect independent of his fever.

Varanu shot him a brief and lopsided smile. "I was right." She turned from the horse without so much as laying her hand on her sword. She'd buckled it on over her linens. Esgeriad's dagger was already strapped to the horse. He mostly carried it because it had been a gift, and it was pretty.

A moment later a stubby Imperial in a brown robe came into view around the bole of an oak tree. A faint mist of pink magicka trailed back from his shoulders as it dissipated. Esgeriad had only seen him once before, but he recognized Tychicus Varen.

"I thought we might be seeing you," Varanu said. "I'm sorry I was rude, Brother."

"It is nothing." The man waved a hand dismissively. "I am pleased I found you in time. I am not sure how long the cure will remain potent." He removed a small bottle from his belt. Blue light glowed from inside the glass. "I believe this will serve against the great majority of physical curses. Certainly Molag's."

"I'm certainly game to try," Varanu said, and held out her hand. Esgeriad wondered blurrily how the priest knew Molag was involved. Perhaps the Knight of Arkay had told him.

Someone else might have argued who should try the stuff first. Varanu just took a drink and handed it to Esgeriad. He downed the rest of the bottle. It burned frigidly all the way down his throat.

"Tychicus, are you sure...?" Varanu was saying belatedly. Esgeriad blinked against sudden dizziness.

"I'm afraid there will be some argument between the problem and the cure," said the priest's voice from very far away. Esgeriad took a step forward just in time to catch Varanu as she slumped. His own knees gave way an instant after that. He looked up at Tychicus Varen as he held the unconscious Dunmer. For an instant the man's outline wavered before his eyes, became a towering demon made of ice, but then the illusion collapsed as consciousness slipped away.


	27. Chapter 27

Chapter 27

"Varanu?"

Her eyes flew open as one hand groped for her scimitar. It ran into someone's cool hand instead. Esgeriad's face entered her field of view a moment later. A strand of his hair brushed her shoulder, and she felt it through her thin linen shirt, gentle as a butterfly's wing.

"Where are we?" Varanu said. Esgeriad politely withdrew his hand_. He was sitting there with it next to mine. Not touching._

"We are in the Undercroft at Bruma," he said. "Tychicus Varen seems to have brought us here by means of which I confess I am uncertain. He seemed rather fatigued, so I did not press him."

"I've never _seen _him fatigued." Varanu sat up slowly. Esgeriad leaned back, dragging his hair with him. The collar of his own shirt was loose enough to reveal the Necklace of Molag across his chest. The scar was white against his golden skin now, no longer angry red. They must be in a back room. Other beds lined the walls, and there were a few candles lit here and there. The room was otherwise quite dim, for there were no windows, and the only door was shut.

She felt weak, but the sensation of ache and fever had gone. Well. _Most _of the ache had gone. She did not clearly remember everything that had happened in the last several hours, but she had some idea she had been talking to Esgeriad and he had said... Varanu steeled herself against hope.

"I suppose we were both pretty feverish, out on the road," she said neutrally.

"I will accept your word for it. I have never before been afflicted with disease," Esgeriad said. He shuddered slightly. "I sincerely hope it never happens again."

"More curse than disease, I think," Varanu said.

"As you say," Esgeriad said.

"I'm sure we both said some odd things," Varanu said.

Esgeriad stared at her. "Odd?" he said. "I tell you I love you and you think it _odd?_"

"Well, you were probably under the curse from before the first time you told me that," she pointed out. "You might not have said it if you were in your right mind. It's not your fault."

"Why, you..." Esgeriad stopped short. A look of very Altmeri haughtiness crossed his features. Then it slid away and he grinned. Varanu blinked, dazzled. "Oh, no," Esgeriad said. "I will _not _stoop to profanity on your account, Knight of Arkay. Apparently I have made myself insufficiently clear." He stood up, removed the chair to one side, and sank gracefully to one knee.

"Oh, not again," Varanu said, rallying as best she could. "Will you get - "

"Silence," Esgeriad said sternly. "I am trying to pledge my undying affection and you are making it _very difficult._"

"No, I don't suppose I've made it easy," Varanu said slowly.

"Indeed," the Altmer said. "Nor have you given me a clear answer."

"I'm not sure there _is _a clear answer," Varanu said. "You're beautiful. You have been since I first saw you, and nobody but you and maybe two other snotty mer from the Chapel of Dibella is going to care about your scars - "

"I suppose I deserved that one," Esgeriad said.

"- And I like you. You've shown more guts than I'd have thought any Altmer in Tamriel could have, with a lot less reason than most and no training for it at all. If anybody can survive the life I have to live, it's you."

"Thank you," Esgeriad said. Varanu shook her head irritably.

"I'm not sure that's the same thing as love," she said.

"Truly?" Esgeriad said. "How would you feel if I told you I must go now and never return again?" His voice held such absolute conviction that her stomach gave an involuntary lurch. Esgeriad, watching her face intently, must have seen what he expected to see. "If that is not love, I will never know what is," he said.

"You bastard," Varanu said weakly.

"So I hear," Esgeriad said. The smile from a few moments before made a glowing reappearance. "I want your promise that you will not leave me. And where your vocation takes you, I too must go. No matter the hazard."

"I promise," Varanu said. "Although I'm pretty sure that means you're going to get blood on you again."

"For the sake of my one true love, I am prepared to risk it," Esgeriad said grandly.

"Smug fetcher," said Varanu Ashazzarnitashpi.

EPILOGUE

Somewhere far to the East, a pair of Eyeless Ones had just come to the end of a very long run. They were not out of breath. That would have required them to have been breathing in the first place.

They were well into the highlands of Eastern Cyrodiil now, surrounded by tall trees and wildflowers. Neither remembered anything before the sewers of the Imperial City, and while they could not see it, the persistent sunlight felt odd in a way that was new and not precisely comfortable.

One of them had been male once, and one female. Neither knew anything beyond that, except that the madness that had seized their brethren had somehow passed them by, and they had fled the carnage before the vampires burst onto the scene and destroyed all that was left. They had been connected to the others, tightly linked mind-to-mind beneath the overarching will of the necromancer. Now those bonds were broken, leaving them confused and isolated from everything but each other.

And yet something had brought them here. They sensed rather than saw the great house in front of them, a rambling manse of stone whose two wings had mostly caved in and been filled with living plants. The central portion was intact, and inside they felt things moving. All the magicka within reach was bent toward the house, its twanging threads indented like a sheet with a body in the middle. Power was being constantly drawn in from all around them. It was not the awful burning of the Fire of Arkay.

A light step reached their ears from the northern wing of the house. Each one reached out for the other's hand as they waited. They had no more weapons, and no one to tell them what to do with them.

"What in Oblivion?" said a deep voice. _Orc, _the male mind informed the female. _Not only Orc, _she shot back, and the two of them felt the thread of undeath clinging to the pulse of life in front of them.

"Oblivion is not concerned with this," said a second voice, this one with a metallic echo to it. The Eyeless Ones recognized the daedra who followed the Orc, but their master had held daedra to be of little importance.

"We came for the necromancer," said the male. "We need her."

"For what?" said the half-Orc.

"Ours is dead," said the female.

"And we're dead," said the male. "But we still go on."

"So I see," said the half-Orc's voice. "I'll go and get No Claws."

"Get me for what?" The two Eyeless pivoted instantly toward the voice. It didn't matter to them that it belonged to an Argonian, or that she was very young, or that the robe she wore was dusty (they were unaware of this latter fact in any case). All they knew was that she drew in magicka like water into a drain.

"Necromancer?" said the male.

"I am," she said. The two Eyeless cocked their heads as the heavy tread of another undead moved around her, edging between her and them. They recognized that behavior. They had been taught it very early. _The necromancer is your master. Protect the necromancer._

"Tell us what to do," said the male.

"We will obey," said the female. "Only let us be yours."

"All right, then," said No Claws. "Let's see how you are at carrying wood."

The Eyeless Ones followed her gladly into the house, letting go of each others' hands. They felt the presence of other Undead around them, ghosts and zombies and another revenant of a kind they had never sensed before. _We found her, _said the male to the female.

_Yes, _said the other. _We are home._

THE END


End file.
